


Galikwogi ne Waya na

by RomanDiget



Series: Good Morning sourwolf [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanDiget/pseuds/RomanDiget
Summary: They came in the night. Three four-wheel drives with spotlights glaring from the roll-bars, stinking of cordite and Wolfsbane. Rolling up on my trailer from three sides and grinding my garden into pulp with their oversized tires. I watched them from the tree-line as they searched, smashing out windows and anything else that made a satisfying crash. Twelve of them, reeking of beer and hashish I could smell from here, trusting to numbers and illegal automatic weapons.Stupid!Did they think they were hunting woodland creatures, or were they bait being dangled?





	1. Seven Fires

**Author's Note:**

> This is for fun and not for profit. With the exception of my OCs, all characters belong to Their creators. Not canon. Trigger warnings for implied past child abuse, Gore and mutilation, implied sexual violence, implied genocide, and underage sex. 
> 
> It's not all violence and drama, some fluff and tiny bit of humor. Boys crushing on boys.

All of the doors and windows were locked-up tight, but I found a breach in the wall near the loading dock. “Larry, are you here?” Nothing, but the drip of water echoing in a cavernous space and a whiff of urine, it was pitch black in there. I wasn’t supposed to come here. Larry said I should stay away unless it was an emergency. Bricks crumbled under me as I wormed my way through the gap. 

The flashlight had been a good thought, but the beam was weak. Should have checked the batteries first. Still no sound, not even the scuttling of rats or pigeons. Squats are dangerous, more so if you aren’t a resident. Under my sneakers were fast-food wrappers, discarded syringes, and other litter. The reek of urine and decaying feces was almost suffocating. Against the far wall was a semi collapsed tent.

Walking toward the center of the floor, the back of my neck shivered. “Larry, are you here? Please be here?” A whisper of sound came from the corner, as the light probed that direction something crashed to the floor behind me. Spinning on my heel the light caught huge yellow teeth in a dark face. The weight slamming into me hurled me to the floor. Pain! Tearing pain like being burned alive. The screaming went on and on, until blackness. 

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

~*~

I was kicking Stiles’ butt at Halo. Just another lazy summer day, and two buds kicking back in ripped jeans and Super Hero T-shirts. Concentrating on the game like we hadn’t almost come to blows an hour ago; because my girlfriend’s family is devoted to making my kind extinct. Really devoted, like on a mission from God devoted, like religious terrorist’s kind of devoted, those were Stiles’ similes, but he wasn’t wrong. Personal extinction aside, I am not sure they’re wrong either. 

I still have nightmares about that night. Still resent that I can’t fall-in-love and have a normal life blissfully ignorant of the supernatural world swirling around me. It pisses me off that Stiles is determined to walk this path at my side. That he is constantly throwing his fragile human body at monsters. It makes me angry because if our positions were reversed, I would cut him loose.

My mobile chime through the sound of explosions and AK47s. “Shit! Have to go.” 

“What?” Stiles asked suspiciously. Like I would bale on a perfectly good game just because he made me realize I’m a coward.

Bouncing to my feet, I said “there’s a new foster kid arriving today.” 

“When? You didn’t tell me your mom was still doing that.” 

“In the next hour, and she never stopped.” Not exactly true, Mom had taken a break last year trying to figure out what was eating at me. “Just a temporary lull in the number of kids needing extreme medical supervision.” 

“Is it safe? I mean after everything . . .”his voice trailed off, because we just had this fight. 

“I’m the one with a target on his back. There’s no gain in taking out a sick kid I have no attachments to.” I didn’t wait for Stiles to call me a liar, bolting down the stairs and out of his front door. 

My bike was exactly where I left it, laying in the un-mowed grass. If you take the roads, his house is half an hour away from mine, but there are hiking paths and informal short cuts all through these woods. 

Ten minutes later I hit the road in front of my house, there was a car at the curb and a woman helping a teenage boy out of the passenger’s side. 

I was more worried about being late than graceful, as I hit our driveway with a gravel spitting skid, and dropped the bike on the freshly mowed lawn. The cut grass masked a lot of things. As the social worker pulled a bag out of the back seat, mom gave the kid a hug. The breeze turned, and my blood ran cold at the new scent in the mix. Wolf venom, the kid reeked of wolf venom. He had been bitten, that was the only explanation for that smell. 

Mom stepped back from the boy and smiled in my direction. “This is my son Scott.” There was a werewolf standing on my lawn, and way to close to my mother. The wolf inside me roused to confront the invasion, the threat to my mother. It reared up with a subsonic rumble of challenge. 

When the boy turned around to greet me, all color drained from his face, and his heartbeat started racing like he was facing Satan himself. That was when I smelled the open wound and the fever of the newly turned. Then the poor guy’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he just folded like a paper-doll. I was barely quick enough to keep his head from cracking on the pavement. 

Mom was kneeling at my side almost instantly, the back of her hand pressed to his forehead. 

“What the hell Beaumont? He has a fever.” 

“I didn’t know” the blond said. “Taylor wasn’t feeling well on the drive, but I thought it was nerves.” 

Nerves? I could smell the reek of the infection oozing from his skin. Under that, the scent of torn skin and muscle, oozing plasma, and just a hint of exposed bowel. “You said special medical needs, not traumatized.” The kid was from LA, that’s a six-hour drive, Mom never brings in a foster kid without asking me first. She’s a nurse, so kids with medical conditions like diabetes and leukemia get dropped on her regularly. This was something else entirely, and almost guaranteed to spin out of control if something wasn’t done. Starting with conversations I wasn’t ready to have.

“Scott, can you get him inside?” 

Was that the step too far? I didn’t know, but anything short of common decency was going to arouse suspicion. “Sure. On the couch?” She shot me a questioning look. “He’s already disoriented” I explained. “If he wakes up alone and in a strange place, he’ll probably freak-out” If Child Protective Services didn’t know what they had, and how could they; I knew from personal experience how terrified and vulnerable the newly woken wolf would feel. Anything that felt like a cage or a trap could set off a ravening. I had managed not to kill anybody so far but with a ravening werewolf I might not have a choice.

Mom gave me a short nod before standing back. I scooped the kid up bridal style; he was heavier than he looked, which meant the curse was already remaking his body to handle the strain of transitions. With his head resting on my shoulder it was impossible to keep his scent out of my nose, and my wolf all but purred with contentment. Traitor!

We were a mess. Two alphas with a single surviving beta between us. Jackson is hiding out in France, so he doesn’t count. Derek, a born werewolf, but only half trained, and Stiles totally human, but surprisingly capable at dealing with the supernatural. My wolf hated being solo and that was a good enough reason to avoid bonding with the others. The boy’s scent was in my nose, on my clothes, and creeping under my skin. I could only hope that he was bonded to his Sire strongly enough that he would reject me. Mom held the door open, while the Social Worker brought up the rear carrying the kid’s things. Standard first-aid stuff by the smell and all but useless. 

We have three couches and not much else in the living room besides the TV, cause movie night, and teenagers need room to spread out. I laid him down on one, and fussed with the pillow under his head a little more than my manly dignity liked. Mom shook out one of the knitted throws and draped it over him. 

“Shouldn’t we put him in his own room so we don’t wake him” the Social Worker asked? 

I turned around to give her a real inspection. Female person, check, human person, mostly but something . . . the scent of burned mandrake and coriander clicked into place. Human yes, but not as innocent or ignorant as she might pretend. 

“Who attacked him” I asked?

“How . . .” she stuttered, before shaking her head in negation. “It was a family member, somebody he trusted.” 

“Why?”

“If we knew that, we would be closer to catching the bastard” she gritted out. 

Mom’s spine stiffened in disbelief before turning a baleful glare on the Social Worker. “You brought the victim of a violent crime into my home under false pretenses” she accused.  
The Social Worker flinched. “Not false pretenses, he is severely injured and needs knowledgeable care while recovering, and we are desperately short of those resources. However, the Step-father attacked the boy with a vicious dog, and is implicated in a mass murder.” Lie, plausible but still a lie. A dog couldn’t have infected the kid, and a dog would have gone for the throat. Whatever wounds the boy had were under his clothing, that ruled out an animal. Mass murderer, that was possible. Stiles kept track of those stories but they were probably unrelated. “My care-team felt it would be best to move the boy out of County” she finished. 

“Withheld information is just as offensive as false information, Beaumont.” Mom was building up a head of steam. “Medical needs aside, if my child comes to any harm because of this stunt, losing your credentials will be the least of your problems.” 

The Social Worker blushed hotly “There’s no danger” she insisted. That just pissed me off. She was a Witch. Stiles says they recognize us as part of their Goddesses creation. This woman had to know what she was dropping on our doorstep.

“If you believe he needs to be hidden, how can you say we aren’t in danger?” It was bad enough that the Pack’s enemies were willing to go after my mother. I wasn’t about to double down on that risk.

“Please believe me, there is nothing to lead the boy’s step father to your doorstep.” Nutjob if she thinks an Alpha can't track down it's pack mates. 

“I am not convinced” that should be clear enough for double-speaking bureaucrats. 

The woman heaved a deep breath. “I get it, we were not as forthcoming as we should have been, but our resources are limited”. She made eye contact with me. “The step-father is only one hazard. If I take Taylor back to LA, the County will stick him in one group facility or another and that can be catastrophic.” 

Christ on a crutch. She was telling me – me -- that the boy would end up in a violent situation that was sure to trigger a ravening. Which meant she had an idea of what I was, and that she was foisting the responsibility of protecting a lot of unknown and unknowable people onto my shoulders. 

If I didn’t want mom getting a full explanation, I was in a corner. My wolf had an opinion, a really strong opinion ‘cub it said, protect the cub’. The wolf felt really strongly and began to fight me for control.

“Fine.”

“Scott, no” mom said. Parts of this conversation had bypassed her altogether. I scented her distress and confusion. “This is my house and I decide who stays and who goes.”

“Mom, he’s hurt, and he’s scared. You know what happens to kids in Juvi.” 

She did know and I could see that knowledge battle with the certainty she was only getting half the story. “I’ll be careful” I promised.

Her face twisted in that mix of worry and pride that was becoming too familiar. “He’s going to need help at school too, are you up for that?” 

“I can keep the jackals from making life hell, First-string has some privileges.” 

The blonde looked relieved, and she should. “I really think we should move him upstairs.”

She wanted to talk about him where he couldn’t hear what was said. It’s one of those adult tactics that are really rotten. I wasn’t going to win that one, but I could blunt the edge of presumed adult superiority. 

“Nah, he needs to be around people. Stick him in a dark room alone and he will freak out. If you want some privacy, talk to mom in the kitchen.” 

Brow furrowed Beaumont looked from me to my mom and back again. She was used to telling teenagers what to do, rather than being instructed by them. Never mind that she was expecting a ‘teenager’ to solve her problem. “He will hear at least one familiar voice but not what is being said.” After a moment’s hesitation she either saw the logic or figured she had pushed our tolerance as far as she could. 

The ‘grown-ups’ moved to the kitchen, and I sat on the next couch close to the boy’s head. I watched the Social Worker struggle with the door stop and eventually close the kitchen door. I couldn’t help smiling at that feeble effort to put me in my place. 

She had called the kid Taylor, first or last name? Since she omitted the Mr. that usually signifies both professional distance, and a demand the kid respond like an adult, it was probably his first name. 

“Well Taylor” I murmured. “What happened to you?” There were lots of details missing from this story. Was the Step-father the werewolf that bit him, or God forbid was the Step-father trying to kill him because he had been bitten? 

The fever seemed to be settling, but I could smell the pain on the boy. The heart beat was stuttering irregularly. Not in that verge of death kind of way, but like it was being pushed toward a new normal and then reverting to its human rhythm. I didn’t know enough about how these transitions worked. My own had been a confusion of pain intermixed with ecstatic moments of pleasure, but I had resources now. Once the Witch was gone, I could give Deaton a phone call and he would know. 

The bigger problem was breaking the news. First to Mom because she needed to know we had another werewolf in the house and one that wasn’t in control of his abilities. Then I had to tell Taylor and hope it didn’t drive him over the edge. If he had a Step-dad then there must be a mother in the picture, maybe some brothers and sisters. My wolf wanted to snuggle. The urge to protectively wrap myself around the boy was almost physical and one I couldn’t indulge because Social Worker and underage child, and because if I let Taylor bond with me that was the same as saying I was a werewolf for life. 

Looking at him stirred that up in a big way. He was just a kid; the soft unblemished glow of his skin made that obvious. The short nose, high cheek bones and sharp angular jaw were close enough to mine that we could be brothers. Complexion wise he was a bit darker and his hair was straight with a few red highlights catching the light among the umber mass. He was shorter than me, and skinny. Trying to imagine how the change would alter him made me feel almost panicked. 

My mobile beeped with an incoming message. Fishing it out of my pocket I saw the icon for Stiles and half a line of text ‘werewolf sighted’ . . . Great. 

If I don’t respond, there’s like a twenty-minute window before Stiles rounds up the cavalry and comes to my rescue. If I answer there’s an avalanche of questions coming that I don’t know how to answer and Derek will arrive on my doorstep in that same twenty-minute window, because ever since they started boning, Stiles tells Derek everything. 

So, I chose the middle way: ‘Come over in the morning and bring Derek’.

‘You hate Derek.’ 

‘Do not.’ 

‘Yes you do.’ Alright, I see why Stiles might think so. 

‘I choose not to burden myself with a would-be Alpha’s opinions.’ 

‘Derek wants to know why you’re being cagey?’ 

Shit. 

‘Ask Derek where he saw a werewolf?’ 

‘Derek wants to know why you care?’

I wanted some time to figure this out but knew I was going to need help too. ‘Because I have a mauled child on my couch and a house full of CPS agents. Ask Derek if he wants to explain?’ 

‘We are coming over.’ 

‘Absolutely not. I will call your dad.’ 

‘You wouldn't.’ 

‘Think I want Mom in this? I will absolutely call your dad if either of you shows up before 8AM.’ 

‘Your mom is there?’ 

‘Duh! Her house.’ 

The doorbell rang. The silhouette on the glass panel could only be one person. ‘Your dad is here.’ 

‘Not fair!’

‘I didn’t call him.’

‘Derek wants to know if the kid came with a blond?’

‘Yes.’ Who reported seeing a werewolf and where – question answered, if in absolutely the wrong order and in the most round-about-way. 

‘We will be over tomorrow.’ 

‘Fine.’ 

The bell rang again, and I got off the couch. Opening the door fully, just to prove I wasn’t hiding anything. “Hi Sheriff.” He wasn’t wearing his uniform. Sheriff Stilinski was always in uniform. I think he might sleep in uniform. 

“Is your mom home?” Oh, my God, he was carrying flowers. 

“Hi Noah.” Mom was standing in the kitchen door. “Come on in.” 

“Mom?” She gave me one of those suffering looks, and my toes shriveled up in my sneakers. 

“Ah, yeah -- come on in, Sheriff.” I stood aside and tried to smile. Ew ew, ew! 

The Sheriff spotted the Social Worker hovering over mom’s shoulder. His smile fell “I didn’t know you had company”.

“Ms. Beaumont was just leaving, but come-on in and meet her.” The Sheriff glanced at Taylor as he crossed the living room, but didn’t say anything until the kitchen door closed behind him. I listened long enough for the pleasantries to be exchanged and then tuned it out because no, absolutely no way I was listening to the Sheriff and my mom flirt. 

The mobile came out again. ‘Change of plans. Your dad brought my mom flowers. Get your skinny ass over here now.’ 

‘Ewh. No.’ 

‘Clause 18.’ 

‘Not fair!’ 

‘That is what contracts are for.’ 

‘You are the worst best friend ever.’ 

‘I am the only best friend you have.’ 

‘Which by definition, makes you the worst.’ 

‘Quit stalling Stiles.’

The kitchen door opened again. The Sheriff was holding it for the Social Worker as she shook his hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you Ms. Beaumont.”

“And a pleasure meeting you Sheriff Stilinski.” 

Mom escorted the lady to the door. Once it was shut, she leaned against the jamb just a moment. A moment long enough to hear the Camry pull away from the curb. 

The sheriff was replacing the doorstop on the kitchen. “Scott, why don’t you get Stiles to come over? I left money for pizza on the table.”

“You did? Why? Where are you going?” 

Mom gave me that suffering look again. No, oh no. 

“We won’t be late, kiddo” the Sheriff said. 

“I think Stiles has Derek over tonight.” It was lame, and constituted throwing my friend under the bus, but clause 18: the parents of BFF’s shall never, under any circumstances, be allowed to pair-up. 

“Oh, we aren’t going there” mom said. “If you don’t feel like company, that’s okay, but keep an eye on Taylor until I get back.” The wicked gleam in her eye told me they were enjoying watching me squirm, and not so much as a batted eyelash when I mentioned Stiles and Derek together and unchaperoned. What the hell?

As soon as the sheriff’s car pulled away, I was texting so fast my thumbs were a blur. ‘Stiles, they’re going to a hotel!’

‘Gross! Why do you tell me these things?’ 

‘Quit whining and do something.’ 

‘What do you think I can do?’

‘Blow something up! Call in an anonymous tip, you know all the wanted felons.’ 

‘Derek says no.’

‘Not Derek’s business.’

‘Derek says: if you get me arrested again, he will rip out your guts.’ 

‘Tell Derek to take a number.’

‘Dude, you know they’ve been together for years?’ 

‘Not -- I would have noticed.

‘Like you noticed your chemistry teacher was a sorcerer?’ 

‘That was one time.’ 

‘Was it?’ 

This was getting desperate. Mom says I’m sweetly oblivious. Derek is surprised I can tie my own shoelaces, but Stiles has always been in my corner before. Taylor shifted his position on the couch. I couldn’t afford to be stupid. ‘They left us money for pizza.’ 

‘You want us to come over?’ 

‘Yes.’

‘Call Allison.’

‘Why?’ 

‘Because Derek just took off his shirt.’

‘Gross. Why do you tell me these things?’ 

My phone beeped with another text. It showed Derek’s icon ‘Good night Scott.’ 

The Sheriff and my mom, together for years, horrible, just horrible. Stiles knew. Why would he bail on our contract? He was much more of a stickler for those details, quoting it all the time, and clause 18 was his idea. Plus, revenge. The pair of us are creepy that way, elaborate scams tailored to the precise level of the offense. He knew I would get him back. It was satisfying for a moment.

Then I reconsidered, Stiles knew the drill, and he wasn’t trying to wheedle his way out of it. Which meant, this was his revenge. He as much as told me just now it was about Allison. It was all a bit much, and I knew there was beer in the fridge. 

I barely opened the fridge door when I hear Taylor whimper. I was at his side in less than a second. He was still asleep, but whimpering in fear. The blanket wadded into a ball and pressed against his stomach. 

We were a week shy of the next full moon but I could sense the change trying to take hold of his body. “Shush, little guy.” Kids are not my thing and I wasn’t sure if I should wake him or try something else? My wolf had other plans pushing forward until I was hovering over the boy’s face before blowing into his nostrils. A second and then a third breath before Taylor settled into a deeper sleep. 

Okay, drowning my misery seemed like a bad idea. Settling onto the couch I picked up the remote and started flipping through channels. 

There were no more nightmares, Taylor must have slept through the night. I cracked a blurry eye when mom draped a blanket over me.


	2. Nature versus Nurture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone drops a newly turned werewolf in your lap, a child really. How do you tell him monsters are real, that he is one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the end of season two I was heartily sick of Scott's mooning after Allison, and I found her romantic relationship with a werewolf to be totally dubious in light of her Aunt's tactics to murder Derek's family. This story is not about them, it's about my OC learning how to cope with the hand he has been dealt.

I didn’t need to look out the window to know it was a dreary morning. Even the birds sounded depressed. Need to or not, I stepped out on the front porch anyway. There’s a bone deep satisfaction witnessing the day begin. The last two years had taught me that much at least. 

Overcast yes, courtesy of our August weather, ocean fog blanketed the valley, scraps of mist twisting among the trees. It would be another hour before the sun cleared Mount Bixby and burned off the fog. 

I could hear Mom in the kitchen brewing coffee. She has a job to go t. Apparently, she also has a boyfriend, and I wasn’t quite sure where I fit among those priorities. So, conversations to be had. Stiles hadn’t said it out loud, but she had a right to be happy. She needed company that wasn’t racing in six directions at once, only to disappear in the next year into an adult life of his own. That was the kind of thing Stiles would think about. He worried about his dad constantly. Maybe the difference was his mother didn’t just run off without a second thought. You can stay mad at somebody for dying, but it’s not an attractive look. A dead-beat dad on the other hand, I got support for being pissed about that, but it was beginning to bore me. 

Conversations, a figurative elephant in the room, a why and a how, and an idea about what comes next.

Taylor was still curled up on the couch. The morning news at low volume had replaced infomercials. Our living room is only twelve-feet across, but it seemed to take a long time before I stepped into the kitchen. 

Mom looked up from her coffee “You seem thoughtful this morning. Do you want me to make some breakfast?” 

I shook my head “Stiles and Derek are coming over.”

“You don’t like Derek.” 

I poured myself a cup and sat down. “That’s not true.” She raised an eyebrow, challenging me to justify a year’s worth of avoidance. “He’s bossy, and not as smart as he thinks he is.” 

She got up to put her cup in the sink. “People rarely are” and she gently patted me on the head as she crossed the room for the keys hanging by the back door. The implication took my self-esteem down a notch. 

“So, what did Taylor’s Social Worker want to say that I’m not old enough to understand?” 

Mom frowned. “It’s what she didn’t say that seems to have been the point.” 

“And that was?”

“She seems to know something about the ‘animal attacks’ last year, and that you might know something about what happened.” The quirking eyebrow invited me to come clean and I wasn’t sure I should. Mom waited a double beat for me to volunteer before going on “if I understood correctly, the thing that happened to you, happened to Taylor.”

That was an out, maybe one I didn’t deserve. “He was bitten by a werewolf, and his body is transitioning. That’s why Derek is coming over. He knows more about it than I do.” 

“You never told me who bit you?”

“Because he’s dead, and it doesn’t matter anymore.” I saw the question first take shape, and then watched the sadness settle into her eyes. I wasn’t innocent anymore and now she knew it. 

“Noah knows?” 

“Less than you do” I answered. “Stiles isn’t a werewolf and has been pretty clear he doesn’t want to be one.”

“But he’s in the thick of it just the same.”

“It’s Stiles, I’m his BFF, and he and Derek are in-love. We tried to keep him out of it, but he is Stiles. It was just safer for him if he knew the details and wasn’t flying around on intuition and guess work, because he wouldn’t stop trying to protect us.” 

“All Gods save us from Stilinski men.” 

“Is the Sheriff like that?” 

“You know he is.” It wasn’t the answer I was looking for but it fit. “Is Taylor awake” she asked me? it’s an old house, by chance or by design none of the floor boards had creak, but the wood still vibrated under his tread.

“Why, do you see his shadow in the doorway?” 

“In fact, I do see his shadow.”

“Taylor, you don’t have to hide” I said. The floor board did creaked as he stepped into view. “How much did you understand?” 

Mom picked-up her purse from the table. “It’s time for me to go to work.” Slipping on the cardigan while Taylor hesitated on thresholds real and imaginary, but he was on his feet so that was a plus.

She patted me on the shoulder in passing. “Scott, I want you to take Taylor’s records over to the school tomorrow and get his registration started.” 

That was a perfectly reasonable request, but it backed me up a bit. Yesterday I was thinking about how to get an unstable werewolf away from my mom. Today I was trying to figure out how to ease the kids transition and keep him safe. When had that changed? 

“Taylor, do you remember Scott?” 

The wary look was backed by a whiff of fear. I was probably the first werewolf he had encountered since the almost fatal meeting. He would almost certainly be confused between 

his wolf’s instincts and the human way of thinking. “You fainted yesterday, and I guess you were having nightmares last night. It’s alright to be confused, sounds like you had a pretty rough week.” 

“Yeah, nightmares” he cocked his head slightly. “Were you talking about werewolves?” 

Mom smiled. “Talking, yes. Now I really have to go. Scott will look after you until I get back to make you boys some lunch.” 

Mom stuff, good move masking the supernatural in day to day trivia and expectations. Her passage toward the front door was a little brisker than usual. The clock on the wall said 7:45 so maybe she was trying to avoid our guests. 

Taylor had stepped into the kitchen to let my mom pass. Now he stood almost rooted to the spot. 

“Do you drink coffee? There’s some in the pot” he shook his head. “Milk? Juice?” I offered. 

“You’re hot” he announced.

“What?” 

“You were all over me last night. I don’t mind, but maybe next time I can be awake to enjoy it” he said with a shy smile. 

“I didn’t. . . I don’t. . .”

The smile faded. “Dude, I can smell you. You’re on my skin.”

“I have a girlfriend.” As if that answered anything. 

“Oh, on the DL” he said. “You shouldn’t creep on me then, if you can’t talk about it.” That was a little judgmental. 

“Taylor, you were dreaming last night. I hovered some, but I didn’t touch you.” 

“Sure” he said. And retreated into the living room.

I heard the Camaro’s rumble pulling up.

I followed Taylor into the living room. “It’s not what you think, but my friends can explain it.” 

“Yeah, I’m not up for any kind of group thing.” 

Crap! He thought I was going to whore him out. “I swear it’s not what you think, just give us a chance okay?” 

Stiles walked in without knocking. Because we never knock. Hell, most people in Beacon Hills don’t knock. Taylor’s eyes landed on Stiles with interests, that quickly changed to confusion. Derek walked in right behind him, and Taylor was backing into a corner a little too fast for someone injured.

Stiles looked confused at the reaction. Derek took a deep inhale of the ambient scents and his eyes flared momentarily red. “You didn’t” he challenged me. 

Now I could smell it too. Somehow, I had scent marked Taylor. “I didn’t! I swear Derek, beyond carrying him inside after he fainted, I never touched the kid.”  
“What’s going on” Stiles asked? 

The kid’s pheromones were a boil of flight, fight, lust, and rejection. “Taylor, nobody here wants to hurt you. Not today, please calm down and let us sort this out.”

“Peace Taylor” Derek said using the Alpha Voice. 

Why didn’t I think of that? It had the desired effect, and the boy relaxed, inching out of the corner. That was when I noticed the wince accompanying every breath. The kid was in pain, and all this moving around and upset had to be making it worse. “Taylor, where are your meds?”

“I remember you” he said to Derek, and ignoring me. There was a short bubble of hostility that was quickly snuffed out, along with a shuddering breath.

“You were supposed to remember. I wouldn’t have been so harsh if I knew you had legitimate claim to sanctuary.” Derek looked concerned too. He had to be scenting the wounds I still hadn’t inspected.

Stiles mouthed sanctuary at me, and I could only shrug. I don’t know what rules apply, and most of the time the opposition is breaking them, so it doesn’t matter. 

“I’m hungry” Stiles announced. 

“Mom’s kitchen is at your disposal, but she will be back for lunch.” In other words, don’t leave a mess. Because making a mess was a given when Stiles cooks. 

“Who want’s hotcakes?” The last of the tension in the room collapsed.

One of Derek’s eyebrows rose. The Alpha voice compels obedience, but Stiles has his own trick, making food and eating it the most important topic in the room. 

Of course, when Stiles cooks, it’s a community event so we filed into the kitchen. Pouring Derek, the last mug’s worth of coffee, I started another pot brewing. By the time I sat down Stiles was already mixing the batter. 

Taylor looked around the kitchen with interest before turning to Derek. “Shouldn’t there be raw liver or something?” 

Derek gave me the eye. “I had to explain the bite to Mom, and Taylor overheard us.”

Derek snorted dismissively before giving Taylor his attention. “I like my steak rare, not blue.” 

“So, that’s why I’m here, because you’re civilized werewolves?” 

“Most werewolves are pretty civilized” Stiles interjected. “They turn dangerous for the same reasons humans do. Because they’re scared, or sick, or something tragic has sent them around the bend.” Stiles was whisking eggs, milk, flour and applesauce together while speaking over his shoulder.

“You’re not a werewolf” Taylor announced as if it was the most important thing in the world. From his perspective it probably was. “But you smell like him” the jut of his chin pointed to Derek. 

Stiles turned around, still whisking, and the bowl cradled against his stomach. “Derek is my mate.” 

That was news. They had been boning since April, and I had been feeling a little sorry for Derek thinking Stiles would get it out of his system eventually and move on. Heartbroken werewolves are no fun. I ought to know. 

“So, am I Scott’s mate?” 

Derek choked on his coffee, and the whisk in Stiles’ hand clattered against the rim of the bowl. Both of them looked at me accusingly. “Cub” I stuttered. “He’s my cub?” and that was almost a whine as my wolf squirmed happily.

The only thing that made it better was the crash of Derek’s teeth as he snapped shut his jaw. Stiles was still staring open mouth, as he set the bowl down on the counter. 

“Uh, how does that work?” 

“I don’t know” still whining. “Just look at him though. He’s too young for this, he’s scared, and he’s hurt. Who’s going to take care of him?” 

Stiles eyes got that unfocussed look I was coming to know when he was confronted with a problem that didn’t make sense. He walked over to the table and stood between me and Taylor. “Scott give me your hand” 

“Why?” I don’t like it when he gets all mystical. It’s another wedge between us. Another sign he is growing in directions I can never follow. 

“You know why.” He gripped my wrist firmly in his two hands and lifted it even with his shoulder before turning palm up to study. “Hmm, the girdle of Venus is broken, but the heartline has many threads” he released my hand. I folded my arms across my chest, resisting the urge to study my own palm. Despite what the books say, I can’t see what Stiles sees.

“Taylor, do you want me to look?” The cub looked nervously from one face to another. Derek’s expression was stone. He isn’t a fan of Stiles learning magic either.

“Palm reading, sure. Are you any good?” 

“You won’t know until you try.”

“Right hand or left?” 

“The right hand gives energy, and the left receives it” Stiles said. “Let’s look for the love coming to you.” 

Taylor offered up the left palm, and Stiles cradling Taylor’s hand in both of his knelt until the hand was even with the table and all of us could see the star-shaped conjunction of lines. Two of those lines crossing the others at right angles looked like scars. “How did these happen” Stiles asked pointing at the scars. 

“This one is from when I was little, and I don’t really remember” Taylor said pointing to one dimpled with stich marks. “This one” pointing at a thick keloid line “is from shop class.” Something about that explanation didn’t track, but foster kids keep secrets like dragons hoard gold. 

Stiles, nodded as if satisfied, but the worried sideways flick of his said otherwise. “Your Girdle of Venus is intact and very strong” he said. “The heartline is tangled and thin in early life but grows deeper through the years” Stiles sighed, spanning Taylor’s palm with thumb and forefinger “see this line that crosses your palm?” 

Taylor nodded. “That’s your lifeline.” 

“What does it say?” 

“See where the line is interrupted here?” Again, the boy nodded. “That shows a destined break in your life force. “Scott, show Taylor yours.”

Our two hands couldn’t be more different. Allison teases me for having Lady-hands, long slim fingers with an elegant taper. Taylor’s hands are square, blunt fingers with almost no difference in width from base to tip. Stiles face was a bit pinched, probably because I was interrupting his spiel. Uncrossing my arms, I laid my hand on the table, palm up besides Taylor’s. There was the lifeline. Mine ran a fraction past the joint of my index finger and Taylor’s crossed the whole palm and wrapped around the edge. There was a break in my lifeline in exactly the same place as Taylor’s. 

He looked up at me, before turning back to Stiles. “What does that mean?” 

“How old are you” Stiles asked? 

“Fifteen.” 

“The same age as Scott when he was bitten. Scott is not your mate, but he has been through the same experience. He can help, and by the sound of it, his wolf is all in.” 

“His Wolf?” 

There was a thrum of energy along the pack-bond. Our bonding is very weak. Derek is not my Sire, and I was never willing to submit to his authority, he could force me and chose not to, but there was enough energy in the pulse to get Taylor’s attention, though he looked puzzled. 

Derek put his hands down on the table. The slight smirk was annoying but Derek is always annoying. “Let’s see where we are at, and give you some real answers.” Taylor wrinkled up his nose skeptically. 

Despite the trauma of learning I was destined for a short life; I was starting to like this kid. Stiles bumped me with his hip as he turned around to pick up the bowl of batter. 

“You said Stiles smells like me, but he’s not a werewolf.” 

“Yeah” Taylor’s tone suspected a trap. 

“Could you tell which people were intimate with each other before?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“When?” 

“If they haven’t showered first it’s easy.” 

“If they have showered?” 

“It depends on how into it they were.”

“Interesting” Derek squinted at Taylor. “How good is your hearing?” 

“What makes you think I’m a werewolf?” Good for him. 

Derek looked at me. Fair, because I was the one to ask for help, and I was hosting. Behind me I heard butter sizzling on the griddle. “You smell of Alpha venom.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Alpha bites are toxic. Even werewolves get sick when bitten by an alpha.”

“You can smell that?”

“Yes.” 

“Why does getting bitten, mean I’m a werewolf?

Derek leaned in “because it would kill a human.” 

Taylor didn’t look impressed, and Derek got that pained expression of his when someone is being stupid. Those are usually followed by Derek proving his point dramatically. “Stiles, can you explain” I asked? 

My BFF looked away from the batter he was ladling onto the griddle and waggled his eyebrows. “Science, magic, magic-science, we don’t know, for obvious reasons we don’t volunteer our vital fluids to Science Labs.” 

“Because werewolves are a secret.” 

“Hardly, lots of non-werewolves know they exist. The problem is they want to turn werewolves into a weapon of terror.” The sizzle of cooking batter was joined by the smell of cinnamon and apples. 

“The US Government.” Taylor identified with confidence. 

“Yeppers.” Stiles looked slightly impressed, though that made no sense to me. “There are believers with better and worse motives, but we try to keep a low profile. Anyway, if a human survives the bite, and this is just a guess, the Body’s Immune Response” with air quotes “turns that person into a werewolf.” 

“Or it triggers a latent DNA response” Derek chimed in. 

That got Stiles’ attention. “Why DNA?” 

“Something Peter said.” Derek turned his attention back to Taylor. “You didn’t die, and don’t show any sign that you are about to. 

“So that makes me a werewolf” the tone of resignation, frustrated me but I wasn’t about to admit there were other possibilities. Having your future stolen is bad enough, giving Taylor any reason to fear us is a path toward disaster. 

Stiles chose that moment to put a plate with four hotcakes on the table in front of the cub. Derek made puppy eyes, which cracked me up. “Guests get served first” Stiles said.  
I moved the butter plate in front of Taylor, along with a fork and knife. “They’re best eaten hot.”

He perked up a bit, but then he dropped his eyes again “I can wait for everybody to be served.”

Stiles wagged a finger under Taylor’s nose “you will do no such thing. I’m the cook, my word is law.”

Derek snickered. The glare of mock outrage Stiles directed at his partner made Taylor laugh. 

“Trust me” I said making a sad face at the plate. “Anything Stiles puts in front of you is going to be delicious.” 

“Truth” Stile said with dignity. “Also true, Scott will steal the food right out of your mouth given a chance.” 

“Clause three” I complained. 

“Does not apply to offspring, per amendment D” he argued. 

“Offspring?” I said in disbelief. When he grows-up, Stiles is either going to become a lawyer, or Satan’s very own cop. Neither profession is known for its tight grip on reality which would suit him fine.

Derek’s long-suffering sigh pulled my attention. Sitting there, arms folded across his chest, and looking bored “what is clause three?” 

“Clause three of the Best Friends Forever contract states BFFs will not narc on the other’s larcenous strategies, Amendment D, states all clauses are null and void when one of us becomes a parent. 

“Neither of us is a parent.” I countered. 

“kkkkub” Derek coughed. Stiles beamed, and the next plate went down in front of the Alpha. 

“Derek, you cheat.” 

His long arms had already extracted flatware from the jar on the table. “Not my fault if your BFF contract doesn’t specify order of service.” Derek shoved a ridiculously large forkful into his face.

Taylor, had been taking his sweet time cutting the hotcakes on his plate into bite size pieces. “Is this normal werewolf behavior?” 

Derek grunted around the food in his mouth, then his eyes closed in bliss. 

“Do we squabble like brothers, you mean?” Stiles was scrapping the last of the batter from the bowl. “Mostly. Packs are like families; things work out pretty well if no one is too attached to the rules. 

Still looking hesitant, even though Derek was already halfway done with his plate, Taylor finally put some food in his mouth. Stiles had paused to watch, and the look of surprise on Taylor’s face was everything. 

Stiles went back to plating hotcakes, turned off the heat and moved the griddle to a cold burner, before coming back to the table with two plates. He hadn’t even sat down before I was digging in. 

My friend loves to eat, and his dad is a terrible cook. Self-defense Stiles claims, but I think it makes him genuinely happy to feed the people he cares about. For a while the only sound in the kitchen was of cutlery scrapping on plates. 

I put my fork down on an empty plate at the same time Derek got up to pour himself more coffee. The rest of us sat back in our seats to bask in contented fullness. Taylor’s color was a little better, and I wondered how long it had been between meals for him. He didn’t seem like one to complain even when he had reason to. 

“When was that dressing changed last?” 

“Yesterday.” Taylor’s tone was apologetic, it tracked with several other things that gave me a bad feeling. 

“Okay, that’s on the agenda then. How about you ask us more questions?” 

Derek sat back down, blowing on his coffee. It smelled a little scorched to me but that never seemed to bother him or Stiles. 

“You two are werewolves?” Taylor was surprisingly adept at indicating what or who he was talking about, without pointing fingers at things. “I’m asking because you look like normal guys.” 

Derek nodded. “We would have been exterminated a long time ago if we couldn’t blend in.” 

“The movies say you change into monsters during the full-moon.” 

“Modern stories do” Stiles says. “If you look at older mythology, its more variable.” 

“I guess there must have been werewolves in ancient times?” 

“Possibly” Derek replied. “Maybe before there were modern humans in Europe. That’s a conversation for latter. You need to know what’s going to happen next.”

The vigor of Taylor’s nod was almost comical. 

“First thing” Derek said. “The full-moon has a powerful influence on when we change into werewolves. Less so as time goes by, but your first year your body will shift at every full-moon.” 

“How many days till then?” Taylor asked. Stiles held up three fingers. 

“There are three basic forms to a werewolf” Derek went on “our human shape which is what you see now. Then there is the Beta-form, that has fangs, claws, pointed ears, and a lot more body hair. During the transition your bones will change size and shape and it’s going to hurt.” 

“Okay, pain, what’s new?” 

“That is when we need to be very careful. The reason I was asking about your hearing and sense of smell earlier is because your body is already changing. The more you practice with these new sensitivities the less disoriented you will be when the change happens. 

According to Taylor, he could smell when people were having sex with each other before the Bite. I’ve heard of that before, but it wasn’t something I could have done before Peter.  
“Taylor” I said. “One of our big worries is when the werewolf nature emerges in your body, it will be confused and frightened. It’s likely to attack anything that moves.” 

Derek shot me an impatient look. “What Scott is trying to say is that a bitten werewolf is more unpredictable than a born werewolf.” 

“For Pete’s sake!” Stiles growled “Being a werewolf is like having split personality disorder. There are two minds and personalities in one body and they struggle to dominate each other. During the full-moon the Wolf has the edge. It doesn’t understand human logic and won’t submit to being controlled. However, it can communicate with your human personality, if that communication is mutual the Wolf will learn to trust you.” Stiles sat back in his seat and glared at me and Derek. 

“Yeah, what he said” Derek grumped.


	3. Lurkers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is still lurking, but worse things are creeping in the shadows.

The buzzards gave me the first clue. Ten or twelve circling tightly above the small canyon at the head of my meadow for hours on end. Buzzards circle, that’s a fact, but they keep a respectful distance from each other when riding the thermals. They only cluster like this when food is on offer. That they were keeping their distance meant something wasn’t right. 

My tiny trailer sits at the bottom of the meadow. I’ve planted a small garden around it, mostly herbs but nothing that will bring the DEA down on my head. Technically this is BLM land and not protected forest, so the worst I have to deal with is stray cattle. It’s isolated but still within the old Hale boundaries which keeps me from running into my nephew or his puppies, while lending me territorial precedent with other werewolves. 

The local jays were also agitated to the point they were swarming a patch of forest. Whatever had their attention seemed to be working its way down the canyon. Meaning it was time for me to become scarce.

~*~

Scott showed me to my room after Derek and Stiles left. It shared a wall with his and was across the hall from the bathroom. It was barely big enough for the single bed and dresser, but for perks it had a window, and a lock on the door. The pink and yellow wallpaper was a jarring eyesore but it was clean and in good condition. 

“It’s not much, but I can clear out the closet in the hall if you have things to hang-up.” 

I dropped the gym bag on the bed, and as it deflated, watched his eyes take note of how much of that was nothing but air. “It’s fine, I travel light.” 

“Mom will be back soon. There’s a spare bike in the shed, I just have to check the tires and brakes.”

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“Of course, I do. You can’t be expected to walk to school.” That was optimistic, standing upright was sucking the life out of me. Still, he wasn’t going to want to chauffer me around. 

“I like walking.” Mrs. McCall had said something about sending me to school, and Scott was apparently used to coming and going at will. “Isn’t there a bus or something?” 

“Bus?” He sounded scandalized. “There’s a County Bus that goes to Carmel and another to Salinas but they are commute hours only.” 

“Oh.” 

“You’re okay being here?” 

“With you, sure” not exactly true. Scott had called me his cub and not in the ironic sexy way, but like I was a child he had to look out for. 

“I mean, I get it if you would rather be home, but CPS doesn’t do this stuff for giggles.” 

Beaumont wasn’t bad, but social workers have a flare for the dramatic. “Look, Ms. Beaumont isn’t CPS, she’s just a regular social worker okay, and Larry isn’t my step-father. He’s my mom’s boyfriend. Probably the nicest one she’s ever had.” 

“Why did she say . . .” I held up a hand to stop him. 

Sixteen, maybe seventeen, but not so much older that I had to bow and scrape to everything he said. “Because putting the worst possible face on it is what social workers do. I like you fine, your mom seems nice. Seriously, I haven’t had anywhere this nice to live ever, but could you at least listen to me before deciding I’m too stupid to know what’s going on?” 

He stopped talking and looked at me hard for a minute. “I don’t think you are stupid” he said. “But” and there it was, the but that negated his previous statement. “The wolf’s nature hasn’t woken yet. When it does you won’t be in control of your mind or your body, and things can go horribly wrong.” 

“You survived.” 

“By dumb luck, and because the Alpha that turned me was such a murderous bastard there was no one left for me to kill.” 

Murderous Bastard, that sounded grim. Mass murder, bad, and exactly the stuff that made tabloids rich if it was real. I didn’t think Scott was lying but there had to be more to it than dumb luck. I sat down on the narrow bed and assumed my best fill my brain with your wisdom face “What’s an Alpha, and why does that matter?” 

“What do you know about real wolves?” 

“Just what’s on PBS.” 

“You like that stuff?” He sounded mystified. 

“Larry liked anything about Nature.” 

“And, Larry is the wolf that turned you.” 

“Didn’t say that.” 

“If not Larry, who?” 

“I don’t know. It was dark. Something attacked me in the Squat, but it was dark and I didn’t see.” 

“What is a Squat?” 

“A Squat is an abandoned building where people camp out.” 

“If it’s abandoned, how can there be people there?” Did this guy know anything? 

Re-assuming the Face, I asked “Alphas?” 

“In a wolfpack, each individual has a rank within the group. The Alpha is top dog or top bitch and everyone else in the pack submits to their authority. The lowest ranked wolf is an Omega and in between are Betas.” 

“So, it had to be an Alpha that bit me.” 

His face scrunched up “probably. Anyway, the Alpha that turns a person into a werewolf is called a Sire, and they can make you do stuff. Even stuff you don’t want to do.” 

“So, the alpha that turned you into a werewolf, kept you from killing people?” 

“He could have – we think, but it’s hard to know because he was out of his mind. Like I said, he killed everything that crossed his path and that’s not normal werewolf behavior.” 

They were telling me a lot, but it wasn’t making much sense. “So, you need Larry to keep me from killing people.” 

“Larry did bite you?” That memory came bubbling up with all the terror, and I pushed it back down into the dark. 

Scott was staring at me like he saw a ghost, all pale, breathless, and reeking of fear. “Taylor?” the angle of his head was a clue. A quick survey showed I was curled up in a ball on the floor. It was a struggle to unclench my teeth, let alone the arms clutching knees to my chest. 

“Uhm” my grunt wasn’t really an improvement. Freaking scaredy cat. “Give – me – a - second.” What did this guy think of me now? First, I faint into his arms, then I put moves on him. “I’ve got no game at all.”

Scott folded himself down to sit on the floor next to me. “There’s nothing wrong with your game.” Settling himself cross legged, with his knees touching mine once I was sitting up. “I still have nightmares about being bitten.” 

“Rough?” 

His face did something complicated. It took a moment for me to realize he was consciously taking deep slow breaths. That was a trick Larry had taught me. 

“We were out in the woods at night.” Scott began, “there was a dead body reported on the police scanner and we wanted to see. I slipped on some wet leaves and fell into a ravine. Stiles was trying to get to me when the wolf came out of the dark.” Scott was keeping a calm face, but I could hear his heart beating rabbit fast. “All I really saw was huge red eyes and a mouthful of teeth. It grabbed me in its mouth like a dog with a rag-doll and went tearing off into the dark. The alpha dropped me about a mile away from where we started. Stiles didn’t find me until the next morning. 

“Do they always attack in the dark?” 

Patting me on the knee, “not always. That bandage should be changed. I am assuming you will need help?” Scott stood up before reaching down to pull me to my feet. I could smell how much I stank. 

“Mind if I take a shower first?” 

Scott got this lopsided grin. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but that’s a good idea.” 

He showed me where the towels were kept and point me to the body-wash and shampoo, before ambling downstairs as if it was a perfectly normal day. 

I went back to my room and unpacked. Two pairs of new jeans, my old boxers, socks, and some plain T-shirts. My favorite hoody and two rock concert shirts that Larry had bought me weren’t there, but the polaroids of our last camping trip had made it. The last foster home had two other boys; it was a cinch they had helped themselves when they heard I was being moved. You can’t get too attached to people or things when the County is your Guardian. 

With a double dose of codeine, undressing wasn’t quite as painful as yesterday or the day before. The shower ran out of hot water before I was done washing my hair, so I finished shivering under the cold spray. Mom was always after me to grow it long, but most people take it as some kind of objection to their masculine ideals. Being a queer kid just made that worse. 

The huge square of gauze taped over my stomach was yellow and crusty. Though what was under it was far worse. The cold water wasn’t helping to loosen up the tape. They had been ‘temporarily’ out of surgical tape at the hall’s infirmary, and used masking tape instead. That meant several long painful minutes peeling it off. Underneath was better than I expected. My first time viewing the gaping wound, made me so puke. There hadn’t been a waking hour since, that I didn’t get the shakes thinking about it. You never really think about how essential abdominal muscles are until one is missing. I would never be able to play sports now, or even take off my shirt at the beach. 

Getting out of the shower, I looked in the mirror. The missing chunk of muscle had scabbed over completely now, and it wasn’t pulsing anymore. The skin around the staples holding my remaining abdominal muscles in place were still red and inflamed, but every breath wasn’t torture. 

I was toweling off when the bathroom door popped open and some random dude barged in unzipping his fly. “What the fuck!” 

Abercrombie and Fitch froze with his junk in hand. Two things registered, he had dreamy blue eyes, and he smelled enough like Scott and Derek that he had to be another werewolf. “I really need to pee” he said. 

“Try knocking.” As an after-thought “Maybe on the front door first”.

“Who are you?”

“Out! There’s a whole fucking forest out there!”

“Taylor?” Scott called. I heard him on the stairs. 

“Scott, were you expecting company?” 

“It’s just Isaac.” 

“Was just Isaac raised by wolves?” Okay that was funny, but he didn’t seem to notice, just shuffled his feet frantically. Christ, he really needed to go, but why was this my problem? I took the damp towel clutched over my stomach and slung it over one shoulder leaving the wound clearly visible. “Go ahead.” 

“You’re going to watch?” 

Okay subtle wasn’t going to cut it. “Is there something I haven’t seen?” It was mom’s most infuriating line. 

He looked down at the joint in his hand, and then he looked at the surgical staples keeping my guts in place. “Scott didn’t say he had company.”

“That’s because you didn’t ask” Scott was standing in the doorway now, and visibly fuming. “Isaac, there’s some poison oak in the backyard that needs watering. Let Taylor finish his shower in peace.” 

The dude whimpered in frustration; he wasn’t going to make it that far, but I was really annoyed, and not feeling all that steady on my feet. “If you’re that pee shy, you’ll make it to the yard. Otherwise let it rip.” 

“Sadist” Scott said with a smirk. 

Isaac shuffled a little closer to the bowl, and gave me an outraged look before focusing on the joint in his hand. The yellow stream dribbled for a few moments before turning into an acrid torrent. Who knew urine conveyed so much information, what Isaac had for breakfast, and where that joint had last found refuge. 

I looked at Scott. He stepped back into the hall and let me pass. “Do you want help bandaging that back up?” He has a girlfriend he said, but neglected to mention he was somebody’s girlfriend. 

The morning was going south fast. What was more important, taking care of my health or making Scott regret letting me in the door? “Yeah, you can help.” 

I could feel Isaac’s eyes on my back, maybe a bit lower. Queer kids tend to band together, even before they realize they are queer. Did this wolf-thing flow along those kinds of lines of relationship, or was one kind of intimacy a conduit to others? 

Sitting down on the bed, I draped the towel over my lap. “The paper bag on the dresser.”

Scott knelt on the floor beside me. Rooting around in the bag he pulled out the box of gauze pads, the jar of antiseptic ointment, and the medication bottles. “Where is the surgical tape?” 

“They were out.” 

“How do they . . .“ He stopped mid-sentence and looked at my face. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” 

He really was. I could feel his unhappiness like it was my own. This was way beyond empathy or reading a person’s unconscious reactions. “How do you” I couldn’t even figure out what question to ask. 

“It’s the Pack-bond” Isaac said. He was standing in the doorway looking much more interested than before. “Sorry to intrude, but I got the backwash, and neither of you is very articulate right now. Then again, Scott’s rarely articulate.” 

“Mind your manners” Scott said. “I snark with the best of them.” 

Isaac smiled “proof. He doesn’t know the difference between sarcasm and articulate speech.” 

“What are you doing here” Scott grumbled. 

“You didn’t show up last night and I got worried. Came over to check on you, and caught Derek’s scent on the front porch. Figured something must be up, and was that ever right.” He grinned at me, as if walking-in on a dude should earn a merit badge.

“Isaac, do you know where the first-aid kit is?”

“Sure.” 

“Go get it.”

The tall blond grinned, and then practically skipped downstairs. 

“Ignore him” Scott said. “Stiles babbles, Derek scowls, and Isaac loves the sound of his own voice.” He was checking out the wound, with a scowl of his own. “Was this bastard trying to turn you, or trying to eat you alive.” 

The reminder, and the question was too close to what I was thinking, the reek of werewolf so close to me, close to the wound, made my heart start to pound. 

“Don’t get me wrong” Scott said. “They are the best friends a guy could have” he went on with a nervous glance. “Smart, strong, and stupid brave, but they have personalities equally big.” 

“I heard that.” Came from the stairs.

“You were supposed to“ Scott shouted back with a grin. “Lesson number one: werewolves have super-hearing. Nothing you say in less than a mile is really private. 

Isaac came through the door sideways with a bright red tool chest the size of a car engine. “Lesson number two: we are stupid strong and fast, but there are other things out there that give us a run for our money.” 

Isaac set the kit down on the floor and the wood creaked under the weight. Flipping open the lid, I saw everything from peroxide to forceps, and a selection of scalpels. 

“You know how to use this stuff?” 

“I work for a vet, and my mom is a surgical nurse.” Scott had put on a pair of latex gloves and was peeling the wrappers off surgical pads. “Isaac, find the reinforced steri-strip tape.” 

“Found it.” 

Scott looked at the taller dude. “Did you wash your hands?” 

The blond managed to look scandalized and amused at the same time as he put on a pair of blue gloves. “No, I’m a complete savage, and I’ve never done this before.” The faintest British lilt surprised me. 

Isaac opened the lid on a package of Baby-wipes and offered it to Scott. 

Scott pulled out two and gently wiped down my stomach before turning back to Isaac, who was holding out a jelly jar with some kind of pungent cream. Scott scooped out a dollop with two fingers, and began spreading it over the wound. “I make this” he said. “It’s a special herbal poultice that promotes healing but doesn’t mess with our biology.” 

“Human medicine doesn’t work on werewolves?” 

“Mostly, it’s fine” Scott said. “But our metabolisms burns through most drugs and toxins super-fast. This is made for us, so it works a little better. The good news is that your first shift to werewolf, will heal all of this. You won’t even have a scar.” 

“You’re kidding?” 

“Nope. Anything short of an amputation, or a magical weapon will heal the very next time you change from wolf to man or man to wolf. With some teaching and a little bit of practice you can control when you change at will.” 

That was such a relief I felt dizzy. 

“So, I don’t have to change at every full-moon?” 

Isaac cut two short lengths of steri-tape and offered them to Scott as he took the layered pads and placed them over the wound. 

“You won’t be able to resist the change for a while, that’s why you need an alpha to help control your wolf nature” Scott said. “Even after you have learned control, you’ll need to let the wolf out from time to time or it will go mad. Derek can tell you more about how it works.” Scott used the two short strips of tape to hold the gauze in place. Longer strips went over the first, and fastened down the edges. 

Scott sat back on his heels and inspected the work. “We need to check this again before you go to bed.” 

“You’ve had practice.” 

Scott looked guilty. “Said I am a Vet’s assistant.” A vet that brewed herbal medicines specific to werewolf biology, uh huh. 

“So, you are an Alpha, and Derek is an Alpha, and you run the Pack together?” 

Isaac laughed, and Scott scowled. “I don’t mean to wear-out my welcome, but that seems like something I should know.” 

“You should” Scott said. Then he got to his feet and left the room. 

Isaac started putting the contents of the kit away, and tidying up the torn wrappers and scraps of tape. “Scott was turned by an Alpha driven mad by the murder of his family” Isaac said. “The same alpha murdered Derek’s sister, and Derek killed him for it and became an alpha as a consequence, but because his sire was dead, Scott became an alpha too.” 

“There are two Packs?”

“Not exactly.” Isaac closed the lid and then sat on the box thinking. “Stiles was Scott's best friend growing up. He’s got something witchy in his blood-line but he’s not a Witch. Anyway, Stiles was the one that figured out Scott had been bitten by a werewolf and more or less kept him from going crazy. 

Derek turned three of us into werewolves because he was the last survivor of his family and the Hunter Clan that murdered them, were still on a killing spree.” 

“Derek bit you?” 

“In his defense, he saved my life by doing that. All three of us came from violently abusive families.”

“You’re Derek’s Beta?” 

“Yes, and no. We defeated the Argents, those were the people killing anyone with a supernatural nature, but right after that we were attacked by a Supervillain with magical control of some other wolves, then my packmates, Erica, and Boyd were killed, and it pretty much broke Derek’s heart.”

No wonder the Alpha scowled so much, first his family, and then his friends, people he had rescued from bad situations. “Stiles?”

“Is in love with Derek. It took them almost a full year to realize they didn’t hate each other, but now you couldn’t separate them crowbar.” 

“Who is in Scott's Pack?” 

“That would be you.”

Oh, shit. 

~*~

The morning’s fog had cleared off, but this late in the afternoon it was moving back in. “Derek, how is this supposed to work?” 

“I don’t know Stiles. Scott’s an Alpha in his own right. He gets to choose who’s in his pack.” 

We were sitting on Stiles back-porch beers in hand. It’s private enough no one would report him for under-age drinking. Alcohol doesn’t do a thing for me, but companionable silence is hard to come by with him, and Stiles enjoys feeling tipsy. Maybe because it’s one of the few times his brain slows down enough to relax. Anyway, I didn’t buy the beer and if the Sheriff doesn’t feel like reading his son the riot act when a few go missing, why would I get in the mix. 

“But our truce?” that came with an urgent and unsettled look. Peace with Hunter Clans is delicate stuff. Stiles had been piecing together and re-transcribing what Journals survived the fire. If the Hales were to prosper in the next generation that needed to be done and I was the wrong wolf for the task.

“Strictly speaking, we are on the sunny side of the agreement. We didn’t have a hand in turning Taylor and we are allowed to grow the Pack. Whether the Argents will see it that way I don’t know.” 

“If they break the treaty, their line withers. I put some teeth in that agreement, and they signed in blood” but Stiles voice was full of doubt. He was learning, humans often think the rules didn’t apply to them, and truly what was the value of one Hunter Bloodline among 13.

“We will have to trust Scott on this. He might talk Allison around to our point of view.” 

“She doesn’t love him” Stiles muttered. 

It was the one unforgivable sin in my mate’s view. I had been on the wrong side of that line once, and coming back from it hadn’t been easy. “But -- she thinks that she does, and if she sees how attached Scott is to the cub, that might be enough.” 

“I want them gone” Stiles rumbled. Rumble was the right word, because the breeze picked up steeply, swirling leaves had suddenly sharp edges, and the smell of ozone lifted the hair on my arms upright. 

“I am with you on that luv, but consider, they are too weak to take us in stand-up fight, and their presence in Beacon Hills keeps other Hunter Clans on a short leash.” 

“Short-term benefit traded for a long-term problem.” That didn’t sound any less hostile, but the breeze began to weaken. That fast Stiles was thinking of another way around the  
Sword of Damocles hanging over our heads. 

I try not to interfere when his brain is on the scent. His solution to Deucalion and the Alpha pack was to lead them into a Harpy’s lair. For a fragile human Stiles was surprisingly bloody minded, but then again, they all were. I wouldn’t be surprised, if in twenty-years the Hunters were on the verge of extinction. It had happened before. 

He turned to me with a serious look. “You saw the Star?”

“Hard to miss with your dramatics. What does it mean?” I was never supposed to be an Alpha. Mother had trained Laura for that role, and if we are semi-magical by nature, the practice of magic wasn’t common among the packs.

“I’m not sure. It has seven points, so it’s not one of the ritual sigils. Embedded in his flesh like that, suggests an inheritance but I’ll have to do research. That’s assuming it’s been recorded; a lot of religious and magical traditions were never written down.” 

Damn right, some knowledge is too dangerous. Priests have been taking their lore to the grave for Eons, just to make sure the sacred knowledge did not fall into the hands of their enemies. Time for a different subject. 

“Taylor seems to be full of surprises.” 

“How so” Stiles asked?

“For starters, he’s taking the whole Werewolf thing very calmly.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” 

“Less exhausting for sure, but having your future hijacked without warning makes most people anxious at best. Plus, he’s gotten really attached to Scott, in very little time.” 

Stiles shrugged “it doesn’t sound like he’s had much of a life being bounced from one foster home to another. He’s obviously from the wrong-side of the tracks, so that’s another obstacle to forming relationships. Wolf packs are famous for their close bonds, he may be assuming werewolves are the same way?” 

“Werewolves are the same way.” 

“But he doesn’t know that.” The light in my mate’s eyes dimmed suddenly. “Scott said the step-father is probably the one that turned Taylor. What if Taylor knows more about werewolves than he is saying?”

“A pack would never allow a child to be bitten.” Stiles flinched away from me, so I tapped-down on the moral outrage, and gave it some thought. “If the step-father was the last survivor of a pack, he might be overwhelmed enough to try and turn a member of his human family.” 

“Like Peter did.” 

“Not like Peter. Peter killed our Alpha because he wanted to wage a war, and he knew Laura would never have allow it.” Two dead Alphas in less than six months, and the Hale Pack was almost extinct. I was the last Hale Standing, and Scott wasn’t interested in making his pack strong. At least not until today. 

As if reading my mind “always knew Scott had daddy issues” Stiles said. “Just didn’t expect them to manifest like this.” The evil chuckle that followed promised endless jibes and pranks. 

That soothed some of the resentments creeping on the edges my grief. “It will be good for Scott. Get his mind off Allison and on to the future he has in front of him, instead of the one that was lost. He’s right though, Taylor is too young for this life. You are all too young.”

Stiles took another long pull on the beer in his hand, burped happily, and turned that quicksilver grin in my direction. “You would rather I was old and fat?” 

That deserved retribution. “Who doesn’t like deflowering nubile young virgins? When you’re old and fat, I’ll find another.”


	4. Fickle Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor has his first change unexpectedly. That triggers some bad memories and uncertain feelings. Will the pack give him a fair shake? Can they afford to?

Dinner was quiet, just the three of us, pot roast, green beans, and roasted potatoes. “Taylor, how do you like Scott’s friends?” 

Scott’s head came up like a deer in the headlights. 

“They’re okay, but doesn’t anybody knock around here?” 

“Small town” she smiled wryly. “If you knock, you’re not from around here and people won’t answer the door.” 

“Useful, to know.” Where the hell was I, that people didn’t lock their doors or knock when visiting? 

Scott was still staring at me like I had grown horns or something. I checked in with my new sensitivities, his heartbeat was a little fast and his scent was off somehow. It’s a fact that if you get moved around a lot, that survival depends on knowing when something is about to give. That means picking up on little cues of behavior that other people normally miss. 

Besides asking me about the DVD he plugged in after Isaac left, we hadn’t talked and he spent most of the day in the backyard. I was guessing he was used to coming and going at will, “Scott, you don’t need to babysit me if you had other plans tomorrow.” 

“What” he asked?

Mrs. McCall looked up from her food. Her eyes flicking from me to Scott, and back again. “You two haven’t already had a fight or something?” 

“No” Scott said. “But you know, I’m just thinking Taylor is still healing, and maybe school should wait until next week when he’s had more time to recover.” 

Next week after the full moon. After I experienced my first change. What that meant was still sketchy. He had explained that a newly turned werewolf was likely to go on a murder spree if there wasn’t an alpha on hand to control it. 

“You changed the bandages today” Mrs. McCall asked?

“Yeah. It’s pretty ugly. I don’t think he should be moving around very much.” 

“Ya think”” She said sarcastically. “Taylor, I didn’t read the surgical report until this morning, and contrary to my observations, you should be in bed for at least another week.”  
I must have let the face slip, because she gave me one of those false smiles, adults use when a kid is being unreasonable. “I know that sounds horrible. So, I am going to temper that professional opinion with my observations. Don’t go past the front gate without an adult escort until we get a release from the doctor.”

“Mom” Scott said. “We probably shouldn’t take him to a regular doctor.” 

The smile was replaced by exasperation. “You have a better suggestion, Scott? Cause I’m just a Nurse with twenty years of experience treating trauma victims.” Uh oh. 

“I know that” he said softly. “But he’s a werewolf now. A regular doctor isn’t going to be able to make sense out of what he sees. Best case, he thinks the records got mixed-up and somebody is an idiot.” 

“Worst case” Mrs. McCall asks? 

“Worst case, he thinks he has a medical miracle, and goes public.” 

“Worst, worst case, Eichen House” she said. 

Scott’s double take was almost comic “What do you know about that?” 

“More than I did” she said triumphantly. “Give me some credit, Scott. You think I can’t puzzle out all the weirdness around here when my son is a mythical being?” 

“No, but bad things happen to people who know about this stuff.” 

“Bad things happen to people that don’t know. And seriously Scott, do you think you could give me at least as much credit as you give to a seventeen-year-old boy.” Snap!

They turned and looked at me. “What?” 

“You’re awfully quiet” she said. 

“I have no information to contribute.” 

Scott blushed, and it was still pretty, but her eyes narrowed. “You’re quite the survivor aren’t you.” 

This could be very bad. “Sure, blame the victim.” That line usually made teachers and social workers laugh. One of her eyebrows went up while the rest of her face stayed impassive. 

Scott kicked me under the table. “That is the WE ARE NOT AMUSED look. The royal WE.” 

Mrs. McCall turned an outraged stare at him and smacked his hand with a piece of flatware. “Don’t narc on all my tricks. It took me seventeen-years to develop that arsenal, and you’re supposed to be on my side.” She didn’t sound mad. 

Chuckling, Scott stabbed another potato from the platter and transferred it to his plate. 

“It’s a bit much all at once, isn’t it?” She was looking at me, but I wasn’t sure I was the audience. 

Scott’s fork stabbed another slice of beef. Which he dropped on my plate. “Eat, you’re healing. 

“Don’t worry, Taylor” Mrs. McCall said. “My son and his secrets aren’t your fault. The learning curve is pretty steep though.” 

Huh. Things to think about. Eichen House sounded like a bad deal. Werewolves, and monsters, Witches and Druids, dodging gang bangers and racist cops was starting to sound simple by comparison. 

“Umm, how white is this town?” 

She looked startled by the question; which may have seemed out of left field, but I had been placed with a white family in a ‘good neighborhood’ before. 

“Yeah” Scott said. “You probably don’t want to use that word here.” His eyes tracked his mom’s startlement before coming back to me. “I’m not saying people here aren’t prejudice, but they can get really hostile if you point it out to them.” 

“Scott, what are you saying?” 

“I’m not blaming you, but dad’s problems here – it wasn’t all his fault.” 

This was getting kind of deep. “Thanks for being honest with me, Scott. So, Super-healing?”

“Yes, do tell. Because based on the surgeon’s report you should still be in intensive care, not trundled halfway across the state to a small town with a smaller hospital.” 

“Yeah” Scott said. “About that, someone must have recognized what they were looking at when Taylor didn’t die of shock. You said the social worker was asking questions about the ‘animal attacks’ last year.” 

“Not asking, she mentioned you had been the first victim, and that you had been in that bar in Santa Barbara during the mountain lion attack. By the way Scott, what were you doing in a Gay Bar on a school night?” 

“Not what you think” he said. 

Sure, I believed that, but his mom just smiled like she had the answer already. Turning back to me “I know being cooped-up can try a young man’s patience, Taylor. I have to go back to the Hospital tonight, but we can do some on-line shopping in the morning. Think about some things that will distract you for a few days.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“He needs some clothing too” Scott added. “Maybe a hoody, and some other stuff.”

That was pushing it. “It’s okay, I don’t need a lot of stuff. Just more things to pack.” Foster families don’t like to spend money on kids that aren’t their own. 

“Don’t you like it here” she asked? 

Why do they keep asking me that? “It’s fine, but this is temporary right.” 

Scott stared at his plate while his mom looked confused. 

“It’s temporary if you want it to be” Scott finally said. “But I like having a brother.” 

What? 

“I agree with Scott” Mrs. McCall said. “There is no reason I can see that you have to leave, not unless you want to.”

“I don’t understand.” 

She put her fork down. “Your case worker was very clear. There is a new directive from the legislature mandating permanent placement for children with no prospect of being returned to their biological parents.” 

“No prospect?” 

Scott’s head snapped up eyes wide open and too big for his face. “Taylor?” 

Permanent? They were taking me away permanently? “No!” I couldn’t breathe. It was too hot. It was too close in here. My chair hit the floor with a clatter as I left the table, and the backdoor broke apart in my hands as I bolted into the yard. 

Air, cool night air, and a fence closing me in. Keeping me away from my mother. Keeping me from Larry, the only person that ever gave a damn about me. I ran at the fence and soared over it. There was a stretch of weeds between the fence and the woods. 

“Call Derek.” That was Scott. I heard his feet hit the grass behind me, heavier than I remembered. He wanted to keep me. He was going to take me away from my family because he didn’t have the guts to take care of his own. 

The forest was in front of me. Dark, cool, full of small life. The forest was between me and my family, and I ran. 

~*~

Derek and Isaac caught up with me about an hour later. “What the hell happed, Scott?”

“He’s a full wolf” I explained. “Not a Beta, a wolf, he leaped off the porch and changed in mid-air. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Isaac stared, but Derek pondered.  
“Stiles said there was a heritage.” 

That made no sense. Derek was a born werewolf, but his change was just as slow and painful as mine. 

“How far ahead of us” Isaac asked? 

“A mile, maybe two, and heading for the National Forest. He’s hella fast.” 

“Let’s go” Derek said, and we ran full out. By the time we were crossing the eastern slope of Mount Bixby I didn’t think it was going to be enough. Already deep into the National Forest, and Firebaugh was just thirty miles ahead of us as the crow flies. If he left the mountains and crossed into open ranch lands, it was almost certain somebody would see the wolf, and shoot it. My fault. 

I wasn’t thinking about anybody’s feelings but mine when I said he should stay with us. Cub, yes, but someone else’s child. 

“Scott, get your head out of your ass!” Derek barked as he leaped over a fallen cedar. I landed right behind him with Isaac at my side. “You are his Alpha. Call him back.” 

“I’m not. I didn’t.” 

“Quit thinking like a human” Derek snapped. “That’s your cub out there. Call him home!” 

“Cub” my wolf agreed. My cub. The howl rose up from my belly. It shivered through me like a flood drowning every thought, every other feeling except the aching lose where Taylor should be. It went on forever, long after I had emptied all the breath from my lungs. After every idea I had ever entertained about what my life was supposed to be had burned to ashes. There was only Taylor and he was lost. 

~*~

Stiles jeep pulled up on the logging road as the first silver flags were breaking overhead. The birds were still silent, and a deer lifted her head from the brush where she was sleeping, the red glow of headlights shimmering in her curious gaze. 

Stiles had a blanket over his arm as he crossed the road to where we sat, three naked men and a sleeping teenager. 

“That must have been one hell of a run” he said. “There are clothes in the back seat.” 

Derek and Isaac shuffled off to get dressed. Taylor was asleep on my lap, head cradled on my shoulder. Stiles shook out the blanket and tucked it around the boy’s exhausted body with no care for our personal dignity. 

“How did you find us?”

“Without cell phones” he mocked my lack of pockets. “Pendulums’ and GPS coordinates are surprisingly compatible.” 

“Did you talk to my mom?” 

“I did, and she is surprisingly calm for someone seeing their first werewolf, or werewolves” he corrected. “How is he doing?” 

“He’s a wreck.” My own voice sounded hollow and exhausted. 

Derek came back, still shirtless, but wearing jeans and work boots. He dropped a set of sweats at my feet, and scooped Taylor up out of my lap, before heading back to the jeep. 

Pulling the shirt on over my head I smelled Stiles and laundry soap. Stiles had taken the time to bring Derek his own clothes, while I got the first thing that came to hand, at least they were clean. 

“How are you?” 

That wasn’t just chatter, Stiles was worried about me, and those were probably the jeans Derek had been wearing yesterday. That changed the equation. How am I supposed to train a cub when I’m still such a selfish brat? 

“Stiles, we’ve got to find out about his family. He doesn’t just miss them.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I had some time to explore our bond.” 

My friend lifted an eyebrow in surprise. 

“Yeah, I know.” Peter had said, Stile would have made a better wolf. Derek always grumbled that willful ignorance was another form of laziness. Translation, I had never carried my share of the load when it came to wolf-things. “Anyway, there is something else in there and it is not a Pack-bond. Similar but not the same.” 

“The Alpha?” 

“No.” I was feeling a bit territorial, but that wasn’t the problem. “I don’t know what bit him but it wasn’t an alpha.” 

“Crap, like Jackson?” 

“Maybe, I don’t know.” 

The tap tap of werewolf claws on painted metal made Stiles spin around. “Scratch the Roscoe’s paint and see what happens, Isaac.” 

“I’m hungry, and I want a shower.” 

Derek growled low and menacing, and Isaac yelped like he had been burned. 

It was late, or it was early, and we were all exhausted. Even Derek was too tired to broadcast his annoyance. “We should go. Just keep it in mind Stiles.”  
“I can research it but you should talk to Derek and Deaton.” 

I still work for Dr. Deaton, but my trust in him had never recovered after the mess with the Alpha Pack. “No helping it now.” 

“Don’t sound so depressed. Maybe Danny can help.” 

“I thought he wasn’t talking to us.” 

“Nah, he just misses Jackson. He knows that wasn’t our fault.”

“How was it not our fault?”

“I ask myself that question all the time” Stiles said. “But he doesn’t think so, and I’m just glad he still talks to me.” 

Stiles, and the torches he carries are a mystery. A yawn nearly split my head in half. “Let’s go home.”

~*~

The rumble of the Hollywood freeway muffled my voice as I called his name. Larry’s squat was one of those turn of the century brick monsters bordering the abandoned railyard. I wasn’t supposed to come here, not unless it was an emergency. Mom hadn’t heard from him in about three weeks. Over the phone she had sounded a bit stoned, kind of sleepy, with that grind of underlying paranoia most people don’t notice. I called a couple of other numbers I had but no one answered. There had been a massacre at a home in the Hollywood hills last month. The papers had been milking the headlines for weeks, but I recognized a name. Just one name that Larry sometimes mentioned. A person I never met, but he was important to Larry.

The sound of the freeway changed to the rumble of a single engine, the grinding of gears, and the rattle of metal as we bounced. 

“Stiles, if you kill us all, I will burn Roscoe to the ground.” 

“You said you wanted a shower” the wheedling tone had an undercurrent of malice.

Another jolt, and my head connected with a hard object. “Owe!”

“See, now you woke Taylor.” That was Derek’s voice. “Slow the fuck down.” 

“No appreciation” he complained. “Roscoe risks everything to save your naked ass, and you threaten him for the trouble you cause.”

The shuddering of the frame slowed down, and the engine settled to a dull rumble. Stiles, Derek, car, rough road, I started putting the pieces together. The burning diesel masked the other smells, but when Scott stroked my hair, I knew him. 

“Stiles, pull over.” 

“Where? This is a one lane road, plus there is a logging truck on our ass, and I don’t like the look of his brake-lights.” 

“Stiles!” That was Derek again. 

“Okay, okay. Give me a chance here. Not like I know this area or anything.” 

“There’s another road, two bends up” and that was Isaac’s voice.

I cracked an eyelid, the shadows were flickering over the blanket wrapped around me, and the jeep’s ceiling was a little too low for me to risk sitting up. “Where are we?” 

“Anderson Peak” Scott said. 

Was that supposed to mean something? I raised my head a little. Trees on one side, their branches scratching against the window from time to time, open sky on the other and the sun was up. I pushed up a little higher and looked out the window. Open sky, and a long drop down. I could see the back of a buzzard as it flew at a lower altitude. 

“No one’s ever died in a car crash on this road” Stiles said. 

“But some people have starved to death, on the way down” Isaac snarked right back. 

Not true, I thought, it was the heart attack that would kill you. “What did I do?” 

Derek’s laugh was a short bark

“Slow down, Stiles. The turnout is around that big boulder” Isaac again.

The jeep swerved hard right, wheels spinning and spitting gravel, gained traction and lurched in a new direction. Before braking with a shuddering stop. The jeep wobbled, as something big and heavy thundered past us.

“Alright, now what?” Stiles bitched.

“Taylor. How are you feeling?” That was Derek.

Good question. I was breathing a little fast, but not in an out of breath or wracked by pain way. In fact, I was breathing deeply for the first time in days. I peeked under the blanket. No shirt, not pants, no bandage, my stomach was smooth without a mark on it. “How did that happen?” 

“Are you asking?” That was Isaac. 

“I changed?” 

“Oh dude! Did you ever” Scott exclaimed. He leaned over the back seat and bumped his forehead against mine. “How do you feel?” 

“Okay -- good” my stomach growled. “Hungry!” 

Scott grinned at me. Looking past him, I saw smiles all around. They weren’t upset, so . . . 

“Everything is okay?” 

Isaac passed me a bundle “Running shorts, because nobody needs to see your junk in the breeze.” Not an answer. 

“Scott?” 

He shrugged easily, like it was a joke. “As okay as it will ever be. Nobody was hurt, but you surprised us.” 

Derek snorted, but I could see the amusement in his eyes. He was shirtless, Isaac was shirtless, Scott was wearing something that smelled like Stiles. The bundle Isaac had given me smelled like Stiles. 

How? 

Derek got out of the jeep and stretched. That seemed to be a signal, because everybody piled out. Stiles came around and opened the tailgate. 

“My Prince” he said with a bow. The back of his jeep wasn’t a big space, four and a half feet by three, I was a little hampered untangling the blankets and pillows nested around me like packaging for porcelain. 

Only Stiles was fully clothed, and I wasn’t clothed at all. “Let me guess, it’s like the Incredible Hulk without the modesty.” 

Stiles grinned. “It’s exactly like that. And why the hell would trousers stretch when a shirt won’t.” 

Derek looked good without a shirt. They all did, I’m some kind of expert, and you don’t see abs like these in a school locker room. Then again, you don’t see werewolves in locker rooms very often. As far as I knew, this was all the werewolves there were in Beacon Hills. “Pack run?” 

“Hardly” Stiles said. 

“Taylor, what do you remember” Derek asked? 

The warehouse came to mind, but that wasn’t what they were asking. “Trees. The wind, wind so fresh” I felt something, a deep contentment, a longing to repeat. 

“Anything else?” 

“Scott, his voice” the feeling in my belly morphed. “He was so sad.” There were other memories but they didn’t fit together. Turning to Scott “why were you sad?”

“I’m always sad.” 

He seemed startled by the admission, but looking around this circle, I saw Derek nod, and Stiles’ eyes well with tears. 

The wind had been mostly still, now it shifted, rising from the gorge smelling of the river below. There were deer, mice, squirrels, and snakes, a dozen kinds of timber, and low growing plants on that breeze and very faintly the scent of a big cat. 

“Taylor” Isaac said. “Pants.” 

“Oh, yeah” 

Shaking out the shorts, I saw there was a drawstring. Sitting on the jeep’s bumper I pulled my knees up and slid the shorts over my feet and up my legs. 

Isaac looked interested in the maneuver; I was just excited I could do it almost without thinking. Standing up to tighten the drawstring, I marveled again at the smooth skin an almost perfect shade of amber. 

“I have abs.”

“It’s not fair” Stiles whined. “You have no idea how hard I have to work, and the gods just gift you with perfect bodies. So not fair.”

I saw the impatient look on Scott’s face, and he opened his mouth to say something, then shut it with a confused expression. 

“You do just fine” Derek said. “Nubile virgins are far and few between.” Stiles blushed. Private joke I guessed. 

“So, Taylor, I don’t expect you to make sense out of these recent memories just yet, but we are available when you want to talk about it.” 

“What should I be remembering?” 

“A lot” said Isaac. “Most of it will probably be sensory, smells, tastes, how your body felt. All of it will be unfamiliar because your body has more intense senses and feelings in wolf form. We can help you process and that will make your next transitions easier to control.” 

“Was this normal for a first time? I mean shouldn’t there have been a full-moon or something?” 

“Yeah” Scott said. “Lunar tides are tricky, but you got really upset last night, and that probably triggered the change earlier than normal. 

“Why was I upset?” There was more or less a blank spot in my memory after meeting Isaac.

“Would you believe it was about shopping.” 

“Nah . . .” I hate shopping, but it shouldn’t send me running off into the woods.

“It’s a little more complicated, but that was when it started.” That seemed deliberately vague and quite suspicious. 

I looked around to see if there were any other clues, and Stiles threw up both hands in surrender “We know nothing. Mrs. McCall phoned to say you were in some kind of trouble and Scott was trying to catch up with you.” 

“She saw?” 

“She saw you break down the kitchen door trying to get out of the house” Scott said. “I don’t think she saw anything in the yard.”

“Oh, god. I broke down the door? She’s going to be pissed.” 

“Less pissed, if you repair it” Stiles offered.


	5. Man's Dominion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding your feet in a new environment is tough. Gentle words don't always mean acceptance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings, for gore, mutilation, off-screen violence, off-screen sexual violence, child abduction, and genocidal violence.

Stiles jeep pulled up to the house just long enough for Scott and Taylor to scramble out, before executing a three-point turn and heading back down the road. Probably wise, my nerves were too frayed to be generous with Stiles’ convoluted babel. On the other hand, Scott was getting better at telling the truth and leading you to the most palatable if ultimately wrong conclusions. Fortunately, I’m his mother so the arms race of communicating with teenagers was almost even. I have given up on the myth that honest communication between parent and child leads to absolute trust. Adults don’t trust each other to tell the truth or to interpret the facts correctly and children are keen observers. 

The best I can hope for is to convince them that they are loved and I will do my best to protect them. That’s a tall order with a foster child. However, objectively you framed it, Taylor resented being taken away from his family. That much become clear last night. 

I prefer giving the children that come to me a clean slate unburdened by the prejudices and unreasonable expectations of previous caregivers. My job is to make sure their special health needs are accommodated. Watching these boys cross the lawn it was obvious Taylor’s conventional medical issues were solved. His record said he was a habitual runaway, passive aggressive, and disrespectful. Beaumont’s notes had been slightly more generous but still offered a litany of offenses ranging from fighting to breaking curfew. 

Sitting down on the couch, I watched the front door quietly open. Scott’s head came through first. Seeing me waiting, his shoulders slumped as he stepped fully into the room. Taylor followed, eyes half-lidded, expression stoic. He was standing up straight, and seemed a much more a solid presence than yesterday. I have the CliffsNotes version of what shape changing does to the human body. I also knew something about last night didn’t track. 

“Hi Mom.” 

“Good morning. There’s coffee in the percolator.” 

“Thanks. Come on Taylor.” 

“Not so fast” the guilty start on Scott’s face was everything I hoped for. He was trying to shield the boy from parental wrath. “Taylor and I have some things to discuss, and you need a shower.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Scott, is there anything I need to know?” 

“No one got hurt. There are some details we don’t understand, but we don’t know if they are important.” 

More forthcoming than I expected, and the admission of ambiguous knowledge was either a step in the right direction or reason for alarm. I wasn’t sure which. “Right, go take that shower.” 

As he trudged up the stairs, I fixed my eye on Taylor. “Sit.” 

He sat. “You don’t have to stay.” I began “but you’re still a minor and Child Welfare isn’t going to let you go back to your mother until you turn 18. Those are just facts. I am not sure I disagree, but it doesn’t matter because no one is asking my opinion.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“You don’t have to stay, but I think you should. These young men have good hearts, they have knowledge you almost certainly need, and they want to help you.” Okay those were the unselfish reasons, now for the selfish reasons “you have street-smarts, which is more than either Scott or Stiles have. They’re clever boys, but the Sheriff and I have done our jobs a little too well. You will spot hazards they don’t even know to look for.”

“You want me to look out for them.” There was a guardedness in his voice, and his expression slipped from dawning hope back toward stoic. 

“I want you to be their friend, not their baby sitter. Scott’s been moping around in a semi-depressive state for over a year. Having you in the house is the first time I have seen him really care about something or someone in a while.” 

“Depression, I know something about that.” 

His mother, and her addition issues; I hadn’t thought of that in planning this speech. “I imagine that you do. But again, not a baby sitter, and certainly not a therapist. While you have physical skills, you’re still 15 and I don’t expect you to carry an adult load, let alone a professional one.” 

“What do you expect?” 

Touche! “If you stay – you go to school, you at least try for good marks because if a degree won’t earn you a good living not having one will limit you forever.” Basic, I know, and he was looking bored. “As far as Scott and his friends, try to get along without too much friction. I love-em all, but they can be a bit much.” 

“If I want different friends?” 

Testing the boundaries, okay. “Be friends with who you like. Obviously, there are people I don’t want in my home, but street-smarts, you can figure that out.” 

“That’s fair.” 

“I’m glad you think so. Now go wash, you smell like a barn.” 

Some of the tension relaxed as he nodded, and headed upstairs. 

The deep breath I released after he left the room turned me into a gelatinous mass. Teenagers are so god-damn hard. Figure superpowers into the mix, and it’s like negotiating a minefield every day. 

My mobile beeped. A message from Noah. 

‘Stiles is home. Everything okay?’

“He knows less than you” Scott had told me. That was going to change, it had to. 

‘Drama, but no trauma.’ 

‘New kid’s a handful?’

‘I wish. Too watchful, too careful about what he says.’ 

‘Uh oh!’ 

‘Right.’ 

‘What are you going to do?’ 

‘Set reasonable boundaries. Try to encourage him to talk things through, rather than retreat into compliance.’ 

‘That’s a tall order.’ 

‘Don’t I know it. Hey, Stiles does hotcakes on Sunday?’

‘Yes . . .’

‘Want to do brunch on Saturday?’

‘I would like that.’ 

‘Consider it a date then.’ 

The sound of Scott’s door slamming shut, cut into my happy anticipation. ‘Uhg. Have to check on them.’ 

‘Good luck.’ 

I turned around, and Taylor was standing on the stairs. “Who is Allison?” 

Fuck a diddle! 

~*~

This stretch of Highway One is scenic, tall stands of cedar punctuated with green pastures, well-kept barns and fat happy cattle. What should have been an idealic morning was revealed for a lie by the warning lights of emergency vehicles and emergency-flares on the pavement. Driving around the mess, I pulled over on the verge. The guard-rail sagged in a crumbled wreck. One of the ancient cedars was leaning dangerously because half of the trunk had been reduced to splinters, and one of Chevy’s finest lay in a heap at the bottom of the ravine. 

Deputy Parish was waiting by the tow truck as I walked over. There was only one reason I would have been summoned to a roadside crash, and honestly, I would rather drown in reports than face what was coming. “What have we got?” 

“High caliber rounds all but destroyed the driver’s side of the vehicle.” 

“Gang dispute?” 

“We could call it that.”

“Show me.” 

Parish, led me down the bank. A pair of safety lines had been strung between undamaged trees to ensure we didn’t add our own people to the list of casualties. 

The body was caught in the branches of a tree across the ravine, male I was guessing, most of the torso had been shredded to splintered bone strung together with tendons and scraps of muscle. The head was missing, and the edge of one visible vertebrate showed a clean cut mark. 

“Find the head yet?” 

“Both heads are missing Sheriff.” 

Both, “where?” Parish nodded downstream. 

The scuff and drag marks in the forest loam could have been followed by a nine-year-old. This one was a woman. In addition to taking her head, they had hacked off her breasts. Then cut her body into quarters. “I want a rape-kit for this one, highest priority.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Is there anything else I should see?” 

Parish pulled out a transparent evidence bag with a scrap of bloodstained paper. “Is that a receipt?” He nodded. “And?” 

“From the Cheveron Station at 129. CHP already looked at the surveillance tapes.” 

“And?” 

“There were two girls with this couple.”

Of course, there were, because you couldn’t commit heinous crimes in my town without involving children. 

~*~

Derek had hung the hammock on dad’s back porch during the spring. It was enough of a death trap for dad to pretend our cuddling was innocent, where-as any snuggling on the couch made him red in the face and short tempered. 

Okay, once upon a time dad was a teenage boy. I know that intellectually. He was teenager in love. That as DAD, he imagines the death trap is some kind of obstacle to horny teenagers makes no sense at all.

“Derek?”

“Yes?” 

“You saw Taylor’s wolf?” 

“I did.” 

Literal bastard “what did it look like?”

“Like a wolf.” Derek's lack of conversational skills is irksome, but some of his other talents make up for it? 

I lifted my head from the shoulder it was resting on, and looked at his stupid gorgeous face, into those shining silver-gray eyes. He was smiling and all but purring in contentment. So, not being a jerk and not deliberately hiding something. 

“Like a wolf? Like a real wolf, four feet and fur kind of real wolf?” 

“Yep.” 

“Derek, do you know what that means?” 

“Yes” still smug. 

Derek has achieved a level of calm in the face of the unknown that mystifies me, sometimes it is alarming. Werewolves don’t look like real wolves. They look like what they are, a human wolf hybrid. Yeah, they can run at crazy speed on all fours, but usually they walk, and stalk on two feet. 

“Are you going to tell me what it means?” 

“Nope.” His tone had passed indulgent and on toward amused. He knows stuff like this drives me nuts and was settling in to enjoy the show. Bastard!

Werewolves are real, so are druids, witches, harpies, and Banshee. So far vampires are unverified, but right now the list is exclusively European type monsters. There was a clue in that. 

Derek shifted his position and set the hammock swaying. “Why haven’t you dashed off to goggle shape changing?” 

“Do you want me to?”

“No.” 

“That’s why.” 

~*~

Derek’s loft is cavernous. Most of the time the lack of family mementos and clutter is soothing. My father’s habit of building shrines to the past had been an anchor on his violent contempt for all things of the present, including me. 

I was exhausted, sweaty, and footsore. A shower rinsed off the worst of it, but I ran the tub as hot as I could stand and added half a box of Epsom salts to the water, before sliding into bliss. 

Taylor was a mystery. I saw that for myself when the wolf emerged from the tree-line. We have a bestial nature, but we don’t turn into animals. On the other hand, even a bear will turn and run if it sees a werewolf. Taylor’s approach had been fearless. The way he had reared up to lick Scott’s face made it clear he knew us, knew his alpha. 

The backward trek to the last road, saw the cub butting his head playfully into each of us in an invitation to play. That he didn’t sulk when we ignored those invitations surprised me, I’m not nearly that generous. The final puzzle was his turning back into a boy. He watched each of us morph back into our human form. It’s pretty freaky watching bones warp and skin split but it didn’t seem to bother him. Derek had said Stiles was on his way. We were standing by the side of the road naked, and hoping that a truck driver or poacher didn’t come up on us unaware. 

The wolf curled up at Scott’s feet and went to sleep. Just as the moon started to slip below the horizon a silvery glow spread over its fur. When the moon was gone, the light dispersed and Taylor was curled up in the pine needles like a puppy. Scott’s eyes all but bugged out of his head. Derek raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. Now I can take a hint, but ignoring weird heaped on the unexplained and piled on top of bizarre, no.

Then again, Scott and this cub was that a bad thing? I miss Erica and Boyd. Derek is scared to death of getting me killed, and Scott never wanted to be a werewolf. I get it, but I still get lonely. God bless this tub. I slid deeper into the water until only my nose and eyes were above the surface. 

Stiles would be worrying at this problem like a puppy with a dirty sock. I’m smart enough for school, but deep thinking isn’t my strength. I can wait for Stiles to figure out what we have on our hands. Taylor’s not exactly sweet. The way he stood his ground with a gaping hole in his guts, says a lot, and most of it, I like. Give Derek a new chick to worry about, and he might stop watching me like a porcelain doll. He might even act like an alpha. 

Unfortunately, the water wasn’t enough to block the shrill ringing of my mobile. It rang twice more before I heaved myself out of the water and grabbed it off the sink. Checking the ID, I answered. “What do you want Allison?” 

“Where’s Derek? We have a problem. 

~*~

Scott was most of the way through a pot of oatmeal when I got to the kitchen the next morning. Leaning against the stove with the pan in one hand and the other holding a spoon halfway to his mouth, he froze mid chew when he saw me. There were bowls, spoons, and milk sitting on the table. I turned around and went back upstairs for a shower.  
When I came back down Scott was gone but everything was just as before. With a little bit of scraping there was just enough oatmeal left to cover the bottom of the bowl. When I was done the pan went into the sink and was filled with hot water and dish soap. The bowl and spoons went in too. 

Then I looked in the cupboards until I found a mug and some teabags, ran the tap until it was hot, and brewed myself a cup, before sitting down at the table. People can be weird about their kitchens and I didn’t want to rock the boat. Not anymore than it was already rocking anyway. Even empty, buildings are never silent and I took stock. Scott wasn’t in the house and the only sounds from outside were the birds and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The clock said 8am, so Mrs. McCall was probably at work. If Scott had come upstairs while I was in the shower, he was very quiet about it. 

Allison, was Scott’s off and on girlfriend, they had broken up, and got back together enough times that Mrs. McCall despaired of a happy resolution. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t expect me to know what those words mean, but hey four-years of ALANON and family counseling. If I keep my ears open, well that’s my job. 

Anyway, my take-away from yesterday was ‘Scott has intimacy issues’ and I shouldn’t take it personally. This morning -- well maybe he’s a thoughtless pig, or maybe he was setting me up to get in trouble with his mom. Finishing my tea, I got up and washed all the dishes, dried them off and put them away with only a little searching for the right cupboards. 

Risky, if you’re too helpful, foster parents can get entitlement stuff going on and that never ends well. 

What to do, what to do? 

My eyes landed on the back door, or at least the slab of plywood nailed up in its place. Tools, I needed tools. The McCalls’ had a first-aid kit that put some ambulances to shame. Where did they keep it? I checked the laundry room, washer, dryer, soap, odds and ends but no first aid kit or tools, under the sink, same results. There was a shed in the yard, and that was where Scott had spent most of yesterday. I just wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to go poking around with nobody home. What if the neighbors called the cops? 

The resident squirrel was still scolding, as I tested the swing of the hinges. Everything fit, the latch clicked into place smoothly. I just needed to paint. The door frame had been sound enough. I just had to replace the inside jamb of the panel where the hinges had torn loose. That had been a job. The first-aid kit was in the shed, along with a carpenter’s box and a larger cabinet of wood working tools. The 2x4s leaning against the wall were the wrong size, but I was able to cut two of them down, and join them with a dove-tail notch and some glue. Ripping boards with a handsaw is a bitch, but lo and behold, every gnash and cut scabbed over almost as soon as they happened. With a chisel I carved the mortice and tenon joints to fit with the head jamb and sill. Not everybody in my past was a self-centered fuck, and this was a neat bit of work.

The sun was already dropping by the time I was sweeping up the debris, and heard tires on the gravel driveway. I looked at the bike Scott had left leaning against the shed. Learning how to ride it was going to have to wait. 

Scott walked into the kitchen, looked at the repaired door and then at the empty sink, before putting a paper bag on the table that smelled delicious. 

“You went without lunch.” 

“Was busy.” 

“So, you’re one of those.” 

“One of what?” 

“Foster-kids that are always apologizing for existing.” 

“You’re an asshole.” 

Scott went to the cupboard and pulled out three plates and glasses. “Duh.” 

I looked again at the bike he had fixed up for me, and then at the smug expression on his face. 

“Mom is on her way, but we shouldn’t wait to eat.” 

I went back to sweeping, carried the full dustpan to the bin around the side of the house, and then collected all the tools, taking them back to the shed and putting them carefully away. When I came out, I saw Scott giving the door a few experimental swings before going back inside. 

My stomach growled, I could smell garlic, chilies, and hot fried food from here, but I didn’t want to sit down at the table and eat with him. On the other hand, if I waited for his mom to get home, she was sure to pick-up on the simmering resentment and start asking questions. 

Scott was shoveling food into his face when I went back. He looked up when I loaded a plate with chow mien, stir fried beef and vegetables. Same smug expression, with a twisted smile like he was trying not to laugh. I grabbed a fork, and took the plate to my room.

Five minutes later, there was a knock on my door. “What?” 

“Can I come in?” 

“It’s your house.” 

“Taylor, say yes.” 

“Fine. Come in.” 

The door swung open, and Scott stood in the hallway wearing an expression like a little kid that didn’t want to swallow his medicine. “Look, I am an asshole.” He would get no argument from me. “I am also a whinny bitch, and a thoughtless moron. I didn’t mean to eat all the food mom left for both of us. I wasn’t thinking, and I do that a lot. That doesn’t mean you should act like my doormat.” 

“What should I act like? Because I’m just trying to understand the rules here.” 

“Look, I’m sorry about breakfast. I should have checked in at lunch time, and I should have told you to eat whatever you like. There are rules about food, but that’s mostly about what mom is planning for dinner and no one expects you to know that now.” 

“There are always rules. When people don’t tell you what they are it’s because they want to catch you breaking them.” 

“Not here. We like you. Can you let us like you?” 

“Why?” 

“Because you’re freaking wonderful!” 

“Huh?” 

“Just come downstairs, okay? I’m not good at this, but I’ve apologized, so maybe you can cut me some slack?” 

I looked down at my mostly empty plate. “How much food did you bring?” 

He grinned. “Enough for half the surgical staff.” 

“Deal.” 

We nearly demolished five cartons of Chinese food by the time his mother arrived. Mrs. McCall walked in, looked at the repairs and then looked at Scott. 

“Stiles said he should.” 

“And, you didn’t tell him we were having it replaced?” 

“He didn’t ask. I got back from the Argent's and he was already cleaning up.” 

She looked at me. “Taylor, I appreciate the initiative, I really do, but in the future, ask me first.” 

“Yes, Mrs. McCall.” 

“I’m not scolding you.” 

“No, Ma’am.” 

“Scott, can you help me out here?” 

“Taylor, were did you get the wood?”

“There were some 2x4s behind the shed.” 

“You used 2x4s?” 

“Yeah.” 

“But those boards were warped.” 

“Not too bad. It took a little extra sanding, but it won’t split or anything.” 

Scott got up and walked over to the door. “Yeah, I can see the seam.” 

“You can?” 

“I didn’t notice before” he said, as if he hadn’t just pointed out what a lousy craftsman I was. “Mom this kid is a genius!” 

Huh?

“Your dad couldn’t have done that neat a job” she said with satisfaction. 

Dad? Oh god, those must have been Mr. McCall’s tools, and I didn’t ask permission, and now she was pointing out the father’s faults because of me. Scott was going to hate me. 

“Taylor” Scott called me. Something else, a warm pulse of affection. “Taylor, it’s okay. I’m not mad.” 

“What?” 

“What ever you think you did wrong just now, it’s okay, I’m not angry.” 

He knew? 

Mrs. McCall rolled her eyes. 

Now what? “I don’t understand.” 

“Don’t look at me” she said. “I’m only getting half of this.” Scott received the full-on ‘you are my child and I love you, and that’s the only reason I put up with this shit’ look. Then she turned her attention back to me. “Rafe’s dad and mine used to work together, they were master carpenters both of them. So, I know quality when I see it. I can’t believe you did this in a single day. When did you find time to eat?”

It was Scott’s guilty flinch that gave us away. Her eye’s narrowed, and her cheeks sucked in. Talk about walking on egg-shells. Then she looked at the remaining wreckage of Chinese-take out on the table, and laughed. 

“Take it upstairs” she said. Whatever arcane secrets you have to share, take it upstairs.”

Scott grabbed my hand and pulled me after him as he exited the kitchen. Instead of letting go on the stairs like a sensible person, he pulled me along behind him into his room and shut the door. “Okay, old house, thin walls, so keep your voice down.”

“What?” I squeaked. 

“You got all kinds of stuff going on, and it’s happening way faster than usual.” He let go of my hand only to bump me with his shoulder and drop me on his bed. “I’m calling Derek to come over.” Pulling out his mobile, he began typing. 

There was a seesaw thing going on in my gut, edges of panic, and pulses of comfort. I could even see Scott lose track of his deep breathing and tense up in tandem with those feelings. “Is that you?” 

“Is what me?” The way his eyes shifted away when he answered contradicted the words. Maybe I’m a little slow in the head. 

I scooted back till I was resting against the wall, and then I timed my deep breaths to match Scott's. Only when he lost track, I would go a little deeper, all the way to the bottom of the diaphragm. His thumbs began to slow their frantic pace. 

His phone chimed with a response and Scott hunched his shoulders as he answered. I took the breathing even deeper, pushing for the base of my spine. 

His head snapped up, with a red flicker in his eyes. “That’s you.”

“What’s me?” I didn’t look away.


	6. The Only Good Werewolf . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not all doom and gloom. Boys crushing, boys kissing. Allison meets a guy she can't wrap around her finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Allison friendly

The forest is rarely quiet. Even when the birds and beasts cower in fear, the trees mutter in their ancient language. Dire thing, angry things, you can feel their wrath towards all that goes on two legs. So the silence as I scouted my home-range was especially was daunting. It was also useful, the buzz of drones in flight couldn’t be confused for anything else. Best not to tempt fate though, most drones in the U.S. are for reconnaissance, but a very few are armed with explosive charges. 

I traveled south through the coastal range and eventually came to a place where the trees had resumed their complaints. These woods were oak, pine and a scattering of manzanita, it was drier here too, scents lingered. That was how I found him, Crucified on his own door. I knew this Omega in my youth, he had taught me about the potential of potions and poisons to even the playing-field against the strong. Lessons under taken as amusement, if in secret. I was a beloved younger son, younger brother to the heir and had no need for potions. In truth though, the secret knowledge had the same appeal as double edged word play, a means to keep the strong off balance.

My mentor was dead, and I wasn’t sad. My current status needed no witnesses, but he had adhered to the Code religiously, and they had killed him anyway. Gerard Argent might be dead but his spiteful words ‘Kill them all and let God sort them out’ appear to have been taken up by others. 

~*~

I hung up on Allison, and looked where Stiles was pretending to be immersed in his ‘research’. The sword of Damocles was looking awfully sharp right now and I didn’t know if I could keep him safe. 

“They know about Taylor?” 

“Worse. They’ve been summoned before some kind of council to answer charges they have broken the Code.” 

“That’s crazy.” 

“Not completely, but Chris Argent thinks it is some kind of trap.” 

“What is he going to do?” 

“He is packing Allison off to relatives in France.”

“She doesn’t want to go, and is asking us to run interference?” 

“Yes.”

“Is that a good idea?” 

“It’s a terrible idea.” 

“You don’t have any others?” 

“I have one but you aren’t going to like it.” 

“Peter?” Stiles looked very glum. “How do you feel about divide and conquer?” 

“We seem to be on the losing end of that strategy.” 

“Let your enemy see strength where you are weak, and commit his forces where you are strong.” 

“Sun Tzu?”

“Paraphrased but yes.” 

“So, where are we strong, exactly?” 

“We have friends.” 

“We do?”

“Oh yes, terrible, dreadful friends.” 

~*~

High school is hell, if you’re gay. My personal hell is gentler than some, cause I’m 6’ 2”, a lacrosse player, a Karate Instructor, a senior, and API in all of my classes. Even Mr. Harris with his weird mix of religion/science, doesn’t want to push too hard. My hell consists of all the prime beef swaggering around that’s eager to experiment, but not bold enough to admit it out loud. Jackson moved to France last year, and Ethan disappeared into the night shortly after that. Lydia is doing an internship in Philly over the summer, and Allison is wacked. A girl with smarts, ambition, even aggressive, that I can get behind. Homicidal tendencies, not so much. Even Stiles has more interesting fish to fry. Cousin Miguel my ass. So, my social calendar is pretty empty this summer. 

Not that I’m bored. Finnstock is running a training camp over the summer, I teach twice a week at Aunties Dojo, and I have an internship of my own in the courthouse library. 

So, when I saw a new face in the bleachers, that got my attention. Finnstock had us half of us running laps and the other half doing those foot-work drills I never remember the name of. Jackson would know, but McCall sure wouldn’t. The wind had flipped directions to the incredibly rare northeast flow, meaning it was about to get unbearably hot in Beacon Hills. We will be roasting day and night until the wind changes again. 

On a clear day, the sun beats on you like a hammer. I peeled off my shirt because sunburn isn’t a problem, and because new guy was looking. Scott was keeping pace with me and that was annoying. Sure, he can run me into the ground, werewolf after all, but that he was using me as his benchmark for “normal” was insulting. We were almost a full lap ahead of the pack and gaining ground on the stragglers when Finnstock called a halt. 

“Pathetic” he announced. “How are you Nancy-boys going to compete with athletes that train in real heat?” 

I gave Finnstock the look. “Not you Mahealani, you and McCall looked passable today. Don’t let it go to your head.” Homophobic and misogynistic digs are part of his patter, as well as his cover. I’m not saying Aiden was right, but the Lady doth protest too much. “We have a game the first week in September. I want you in condition to actually practice next week. That means I should see you doing drills every day. Be smart, hydrate, workout in the mornings, and get eight hours every night. Believe me, it shows when you don’t.”  
Finnstock, looked us over. I could see him mentally noting who was up to par, who needed special help, and who was beyond saving. “Alright, hit the showers. That means you McCall, I can smell you from here.” 

The group scattered to pick up discarded shirts, caps, and equipment. I was bundling up the rope-ladder thingy when Finnstock walked up. 

“Mahealani.” 

“Yes, Coach.” 

“I see some new talent. Go find out if he’s interested.” Finnstock was looking at the bleachers. The crowd of girlfriends, anxious parents and bored sibs was scattering, and new guy was fidgety, but didn’t look like he was going anywhere. 

“Sure thing, Coach.”

I took off at a slow jog, shirt tucked into my waistband, and arms swinging easily to show off how my chest muscles flexed. 

A few people slowed their departure to watch me, including a couple of moms and at least one dad. New guy stood up. Running shorts, white T-shirt, sneakers, shaggy dark hair hanging over his eyes, he was lean, not very tall. Kind of narrow through the shoulders, he would be wicked fast, and able to wedge into scrimmages big guys would be shut out of. 

Stopping two rows below him, I gave him my best smile. “The Coach likes the look of you, any chance you want to join the team?” 

He smiled back. “I haven’t seen this game before. How does it work?” 

“This is Lacrosse, the Indians called it Little Brother of War.” 

He lifted his chin “India Indians or Native Americans?” 

“Native Americans” I know the difference, and mentally kicked myself for the faux pas. “I can show you a few moves if you like.” 

“Don’t I have to sign a waiver or something?” 

“Nah, we will just pass some balls back and forth. If you like it, we can send a waiver to your parents later.” 

The smile disappeared. “How expensive is it?” 

Okay. He was looking for the kind of roadblocks inner city kids run into. “You’ll need shoes if you want to play, but what you’re wearing is fine for practice. The school covers uniforms and safety gear.” 

His weight shifted from foot to foot, he wanted to play but something was holding him back. Yanking the shirt free of my waistband, I pulled it over my head, stepped up a row, and held out my hand “I’m Danny.” 

“Taylor” he said. “Taylor Merritt.” Tossing his hair back as he shook my hand, I got a clear look at his face. Clear complexion, definitely not a tan, and a dusting of fine black hairs on his chin. He would be shaving soon, light brown eyes with a bit of gold around the iris. Mon dieu, he was pretty. 

“If you have time, we should get after it, before it starts roasting out here.” 

“Okay.” 

I pointed out the goal posts, on the field, as well as the stack of helmets and sticks no one bothered to put away. Coach had found a bit of shade under the scoreboard and was chatting up a parent. 

We practiced dribbling the ball with a single stick, and then some gentle passing from one stick to another. He wasn’t clumsy, and his eye improved quickly.  
McCall and Lahey were hanging in the shade by the locker room watching. Lahey is one of those lets experiment but keep it quiet goons, and McCall had been running with Stiles that night at the Jungle. Suspicious didn’t begin to cover it. Where was Stiles anyway?

“Okay, I’m going to send it toward the goal, try and intercept.” Taylor jogged a couple dozen paces, and that wasn’t what I meant at all. Learning curves though, I lofted the ball to pass over his reach and a little faster than before. 

He caught it. I didn’t see him catch it, one second he was scrambling backwards too slowly to intercept, the next he was staggering sideways with the ball in his net. 

A loud crash from the locker room dragged my attention away. The stack of empty oil drums the coach liked for running drills had fallen over. 

“McCall! What the hell are you doing?” Coach was storming toward the mess and calling Scott everything but a nice boy. He really likes those oil drums. 

“How was that?” Taylor was at my elbow. 

“Pretty good.” Because you don’t stint on the praise when you underestimate someone. “You have talent.” 

“You think so?”

“I do. Are you friends with McCall?” 

“He’s my foster brother.” 

“Okay, that probably means we can get your waiver pretty easy. Ask him to coach you this week.” 

“Oh.”

The disappointed note was nice. “I’m out of town for a couple of days, but will be happy to practice with you when I get back.” I’ve been with a werewolf before, and didn’t regret it. 

“Alright” that sounded cautious. 

“Scott’s a good player, and he has some skills I can’t really teach you.” Like how not to blow your supernatural cover. Between Ethan and Stiles, I’ve learned a few things. Whatever happened to Erica and Boyd, shouldn’t happen to this guy. “I’ll give Scott a ring next week.” 

A scream from down field yanked my attention away from the super cute guy. One of the moms was pointing at an oil drum minus its lid, and a bunch of people were starring. Finnstock was shouting and his language was deteriorating fast. 

Scott magically appeared beside Taylor his face had drained of color. “Danny, did you bring your car?” 

“What’s happening?” 

“Body.”

Body, as in dead body, maybe I should reevaluate whether dating a werewolf was a good survival strategy. 

“Who” Taylor asked? 

“Don’t know yet” Scott said. “Danny, can you give Taylor a ride?” 

“Sure, but shouldn’t we stay to answer questions?” 

“Do you know anything about a body stuffed in an oil drum?” 

“No.”

“Then get the kid out of here. He doesn’t need to be exposed like this, and the Sheriff can always come around to ask questions later.” 

Exposed, like whoever was responsible might be watching and taking notes. Given the number of dead classmates in the last two years that seemed very smart. 

~*~

A body, a dead body, that’s a thing I’ve been spared. Okay sure, morbid curiosity but Scott was spooked, like the murderer was hanging around, and I’m familiar with that. Plus, Danny and some more time with him. That’s a lot more interesting than a dead stranger. I had tried to pay attention to what Scott was doing on the field. You don’t see lacrosse on TV and it gets mostly ignored when sports broadcasters vomit words. I was interested, really interested, but the big guy keeping pace with Scott was way more interesting. 

When he came up into the bleachers so fast, I thought he was going to rip into me for undressing him with my eyes. Then he said something about the coach, and recruiting new players, and did I want to play. Hard to keep track of it all, because big white teeth, bigger arms, a chest that could have been on a magazine cover, and white shorts that were soaked with sweat and clinging to places I shouldn’t be looking. And smells, so many smells, and that heart beat going just a fraction faster than his mouth. If he asked me to fly to the moon, I would have said yes. 

So, yeah pass the ball around a few times, cool. Very hands off, but smiling, and explaining, and he smelled so good. Aside from giving Scott the stink eye a few times, he was paying attention to me. Then it kind of fell apart. I caught the wide pass, and he looked worried. 

Scott asks him to take me home, and Danny looks more worried but agrees. They aren’t friends, but they trust each other. That’s all I’ve got. 

Danny’s car was a beat-up Volvo hatchback, the back seats were down, and the rear was crammed with equipment, including a heavy-bag, gloves and safety pads. 

He noticed me looking. “I do some private instruction” he explained. 

“Boxing?” 

“Karate” He corrected.

“You’re a Karate teacher?” 

“Just beginner level stuff.” 

“You’re in high school, right?” Because Mrs. McCall would have something to say if I got crushed out on a college student. 

“Yeah, I’m a Senior.” 

Mrs. McCall wasn’t going to have anything to worry about. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, fine.” That was a lie, but I heard a siren winding up. “We should go.” 

Danny tilted his head. “Yeah, I told Scott I would get you home safe so we better hurry.” 

We pulled over on Main street to let two sheriff’s cars and a firetruck pass. Danny looked nervous “is it okay if I hang at your place until we know if the Sheriff wants to talk with us?” 

“Why would he? We didn’t even see the body.” 

“He probably won’t. My parents get kind of anxious when sirens pull up to the house.” 

“Oh.” 

“Not like that” he said defensively. 

“Not judging, and I know nothing anyway.” 

“What was that ‘Oh’ for?” 

“Me being paranoid, ok? Scott trusts you.” Danny was looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “Mrs. McCall said I should be careful about what people I bring into her house. If Scott sent me with you, I’m sure its fine.” 

“It is. Parents love me.” That wasn’t the best news. I’ve met the kind of kids all parents love, they either backstabbing little deviants, or backstabbing little narcs. 

Let him ride on his heroic steed though. “Great, because I’ve been here a week and my credit is kind of thin.” 

As a case in point, we pulled up to the last stop light as it flipped from yellow to red. “I know what you’re thinking” Danny said. 

“What’s that.” I was a lot less interested now, and it must have shown. He drew away from me for a second, before leaning back in, way in. I held my ground giving him my best glare. No way I was letting some goody two-shoes senior intimidate me. Then he kissed me. 

He pressed his lips against mine, and then he backed off. My face caught on fire; pink and yellow lights exploded behind my eyelids. When my vision cleared, his eyes were back on the road. The light changed to green and he applied the gas. 

“What was that for?” 

“Did you like it?” 

“Yes, but why?” 

“Cause I’ve been wanting to for the last hour. Because I’m not a Narc, but you weren’t going to believe me unless I gave you ammunition to take me down.” 

I mulled that over. 

“You said you liked it.” Apparently, I was thinking too long. 

“Of course, I liked it. Who wouldn’t like being kissed by you?” 

We made the turn onto Sand Hill road, and pulled up to Scott’s house. Danny turned off the engine and swiveled in his seat. “That’s a pretty wide field” he said. “But you said ‘you liked it and that’s what matters to me.”

Okay, he kissed me. He wanted to kiss me, and he wanted me to like it. I was so down with this. Mrs. McCall’s car wasn’t here. Stiles was supposed to pick us up after practice, but who know how long that would take with cops asking everybody questions, and blocking the roads anyway.

“Are you coming in?” 

“Do you want me to?” 

“Yes, but . . . maybe we should be discrete?” 

“Probably” he hesitated a minute. “If there’s a murderer around, we should probably stay together. Have you watched Black Sails?” 

“No. What is it?” 

“Pirates, gay pirates!” 

“You’re kidding?” 

“Not even” he said. “It’s on Stars, and Scott has that channel on cable.” Danny grinned “proof that I’m in Mrs. McCall’s good books. I know what’s on her cable subscription.”

“You could be a Master Burglar.” 

“You don’t believe that. 

“No, I don’t. That’s why you must be a master at it.” 

“No more disrespect Matee, or I’ll make ya walk da-plank, Argh!” Danny poked me in the ribs, and I writhed away. 

The most evil smile in history, lit up his face. 

“No!” I hit the release on the seatbelt, as he lunged at me. The car door popped open, but I was tangled in the strap, and Danny had a fistful of my shirt while his other hand trailed across my ribs seeking places that would make me squeal. 

Fending him off took both hands, and I was slowly sliding sideways, my head and shoulders dangling out of the car. Danny had practically climbed on top of me, chest across my lap and pinning me in the seat. Not sexy, not sexy or romantic at all, but my body had other ideas. 

The hardon pressing against his collar bone finally registered, and Danny reeled himself back into his seat lightning fast. Grabbing the collar of his shirt as it passed, I was hauled up with him, but didn’t stop there, pressing my mouth against his. He resisted even as my free hand combed through the hair on the back of his head. They call it sucking face for a reason and with my lips moving on his, Danny’s mouth gave in quickly. The sweet tang of ketchup and the bite of salt crystals met my tongue. He was still retreating, and I went with him, sliding a bare knee under the steering wheel and climbing into his lap. 

Danny grunted as my weight settled onto him, then his hands were in my hair. His mouth finally opened to me, and the fireworks went off again. I didn’t slow down for them, I felt his heart thundering against my skin, the musk of his sweat closed in around me, and a spike of heat at our joined center added an acid tang to the mix. One of his hands coasted down my spine, fingers meeting the waist of my shorts.

“Danny.” The female voice sounded scandalized. 

I banged my head on the ceiling with a metallic thud. Danny shivered. Pupils blown huge, and looking at me. It was broad daylight. We were parked on a residential street, and about to cross so many lines. 

I turned my head slowly, looked at the girl peering in the open car door. “Who are you?” 

“None of your business.” She was fit, corded muscles in her arms, callouses that most girls would weep over, long dark hair framing an oval face. No makeup, she didn’t need it, not with eyelashes like those. 

“Since you just ruined my afternoon, I think it is.” 

“Allison” he said with a groan. “Taylor, that’s Allison.”

“Danny, what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for Scott” I snapped.

“Shut-up pervert.” 

“Wow. Peeking in other people’s cars, and I’m the pervert? 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Explain to me how this is different from you and Scott?” 

“God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.” 

Such simple tripe was almost beneath me. “God made woman to serve man, and bear his children in pain eternally” I quoted. “But I bet you’re on top, and an epidural is your God given right?” 

She blushed, but the heat made it to her eyes, and wedged between Danny and the steering wheel wasn’t a good place to defend physically. 

Popping the door open I slid off his lap and onto my feet. Volvo’s aren’t big cars, so I was standing on the grass and within arms reach in just a second. She was taller, and had extra reach but I had extra speed. “So, are we taking this to the next level?”

“You would hit a woman” that wasn’t a question. 

“I don’t like bullies.” 

Her eyes narrowed as she looked me over. “Are you a cousin or something?” 

Isaac had warned me about the Hunters and that Scott’s girlfriend was one. “Danny, are you staying” I asked? 

“You want me to?” 

“Yes.” He hesitated, so I added “We’ll do a better job of being discrete this time.” 

Tall dark and menacing snorted. How you make a snort into a homophobic rant I don’t know, but she managed it. 

Danny gave her look that should have melted her with shame. “Okay, Taylor.” He grabbed his keys from the ignition and locked-up the car. 

Allison fell in step behind him as he crossed the lawn. “Not you.”

“What?” 

That sure of herself and the power of pussy. “Mrs. McCall told me to use my discretion about who should be invited into her house.”

“I’m Scott’s girlfriend.”

“Not for the past six months. I don’t know if he wants to see you, and I would rather look at paint drying.” 

“I don’t like your boyfriend Danny” she just had to use that one word. 

Danny’s eyes gleamed in the dimming light. Draping and arm over my shoulders he smiled poisonously “my boyfriend doesn’t seem to like you either Allison”. 

We left her standing on the lawn. Once the door was shut behind us and locked, because Mrs. McCall and Scott could deal with a locked door if there were murderers running around loose in town, Danny moved closer. “Where have you been all my life?”

“What?”

“I’ve watched grown men fold like bad hand of card when confronted the way Allison just did.” 

That was sweet. “Then we really need to find you some better men.” 

“Why, when I have one right here?” Danny’s breath was on my face, and I really wanted to kiss him again. All by themselves my fingers tangled in his shirt. 

“Discretion” I said. He backed up a pace, and I forced my hands to let go. “Pirates, you promised me gay pirates.” 

“I did” his smile was a little weak but he perked up after a second. “Scott keeps his secret chip hoard in the laundry room and there is dip in the fridge. 

“How about sodas and left-over Chinese?” 

Danny already had the remote in his hand when he looked up “Chinese is better.”


	7. Marshmallow Roast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some mysteries are solved, others continue to evolve, and a happily for now ending. Ta Da!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for canon typical violence, graphic descriptions of death and dismemberment. This remains pretty open ended but I have other projects that need attention.

The body belonged to a werewolf. Stuffed in a sealed barrel, he had been shot with wolfsbane envenomed bullets, but that was all Isaac and I could tell from a distance. That we had crowded a little too close was clear by the deputies disapproving looks as they strung crime scene tape around the pile of barrels and the locker room. 

Finnstock was pacing. “Who does that” he muttered. “Who ruins good equipment with a corpse? Freaking Beacon Hills, why is it always murder, can’t we have a drug problem, or human trafficking like normal people?” 

The deputies took our statements. No, we didn’t notice anything unusual. Tipping over the barrels had been an accident. Did we notice any strangers around the arena? 

Allison’s icon appeared on my mobile as it vibrated madly. “That needs to wait” Deputy Carson said. I put the phone back in my pocket. “Where were you last night?” 

“I was at home, having dinner with my family.” 

“Family, that’s just you and your mom” the deputy asked? 

“Plus, one” I amended. “We have a foster kid living with us.” 

“Where was he last night?” 

He had dinner with us. We worked on a project and then went to bed.” 

My phone buzzed again. “Are we done? I really need to take this.” 

“We may have more questions later, but yes, you can go.” 

I walked toward the road; I could hear Roscoe grinding around the corner. As I punched in the pin code on my mobile. Allison’s text was to the point. ‘Where are you?’ followed by an angry emoji. 

‘There’s a dead body at school.’ 

‘Who’s your new roommate?’ 

‘Taylor. Why?’

‘I just caught him making out with Danny Mahealani in your front yard.’ Oh, stop the presses--teenagers are horny.

‘Corpse?’ 

‘I told you Jessup is snooping around.’ 

Cell phones can be monitored, and text messages are recorded. ‘They did this?’

‘No idea.’

‘Where are you?’ 

‘I was at your house. Your roommate threw me out.’ 

‘Did he tell you to wait outside?’ 

The seconds ticked by, then minutes. Okay, question answered. I put the phone back in my pocket. One thing I can count on with Allison, she is better at looking out for herself than I am. Alerted to the fact someone was making corpses in Beacon Hills, she would take steps. Almost certainly I would think she hadn’t done enough or that she went too far. There didn’t seem to be a middle ground we could agree to.

Danny and Taylor, that didn’t take long. My Roommate, she called him with an unsavory subtext. Apparently, I was supposed to worry about that?   
Isaac finished his interview and followed me to meet Stiles in the parking lot. “Should Taylor be unsupervised” he asked. 

“Danny can handle himself.” 

“Because he was dating Ethan?” 

“Because of Jackson.” 

Isaac stumbled in surprise, and paused a moment to puzzle that out before scurrying to catch up with me. “I never got the whole story there?” 

“Ask me later.” 

Roscoe pulled up, Stiles leaned across the seat and flung open the passenger’s door. Isaac folded his long frame into the back seat, while Stiles tapped a beat on the steering wheel. 

“How bad is it” I asked sliding into the seat beside him. 

“Ambush on Highway One last night. Two confirmed fatalities, high caliber rounds, and unconfirmed reports the bodies were beheaded.” Beheading was a Hunter’s trick to make sure the wolf stayed dead. “What do you have here?”

“One dead werewolf. The bullets were poisoned with aconite, and the body stuffed in a drum of motor oil to kill the smell.” 

“Gross!” Stiles pulled away from the curb, turned into the 7-Eleven parking lot and exited the opposite side onto on Green Street. “We might have two groups of Hunters.” 

“Why” Isaac asked? 

“Two different modus operandi; one group mutilated the bodies and left them to be found. The second group tried concealed the body and their crime. Totally different psychologies.” 

Stiles turned onto Sandhill Road. “Where are we going?” 

“You have a baby werewolf at home. Do you think that’s an opportunity they will ignore?” 

~*~

Parrish paused in my office doorway while I was on the phone. “Excellent, thank you. We are out of our depth with this one.” Putting the handset back on the cradle, I waved him in. 

“You called in the FBI?” 

“This isn’t an isolated incident. There have been ritual murders the length of the southern border. We don’t have the resources, and honestly, I’m not sure I want them.” 

“God never gives you more than you can handle?” 

“Something along those lines.” Parrish was holding a distressingly think file folder. “Close the door and show me what you have.” He’s better at these things than I am, but if my loyalties are divided, his are a Gordian Knot. 

The file went down on my desk and he pulled up a chair. “We have third murder.” 

“I heard. Are they related?” 

“The MO is different, but yes, I think they are related. You should look at this.” Parrish handed over a flash-drive. “Video footage from the Chevron Station.” I plugged the drive into my office computer and opened the file.

“What am I looking for?” 

“Scroll to August 8th, 23:20.” Easier said than done. Surveillance footage is notoriously painful, the cameras are poorly maintained and often tampered with. Most business still use magnetic tapes on a recording loop, each cycle recording over the previous images. 

I had to toggle backwards and forwards a few times to land on the correct time and date. There they were. A blue Chevy station wagon, early 70’s model and predating fiberglass panels, power-steering, and most of the computer technology law enforcement like to exploit. They also have solid steel framing and V-8 engines. If I was on the run this car might be my choice.

The distortion from previous recordings made the license plate a blur and the faces weren’t much better. The man got out of the car to pump gas. A woman and two teenage girls got out walking toward the camera and then out of view, probably a restroom break. 

I looked up at Parrish “okay, four occupants. Did you find any trace of the kids at the scene?” 

“No. keep watching.”

The man finished filling the tank. The woman returned to the car from a different angle, climbed in and then they drove away. “What the hell?” 

“Go to 02:00.” 

Scrolling through for a few hours difference was just as annoying as scrolling through days of footage. Designated time-stamp achieved, the video began playing. An SUV though the color was hard to identify, and a man pumping gas. “Are those Nevada plates?” 

“CHP thinks so.” The man racked the pump’s nozzle, swiped his credit card, collected a receipt, and climbed in the passenger’s side. They pulled forward and out of the camera’s view. A split second later two figures rushed across the bottom of the frame too fast to get a look at their faces. 

“Coordinated then?” 

“It would seem so. We found a similar SUV with Nevada plates, parked behind Armstrong’s Garage.” 

“That’s convenient.” 

“It’s in our impound lot under guard.”

“You were going to ask me to call in the FBI.”

“We don’t have the resources to process this kind of evidence. We might arrive at different conclusions based on that evidence, but they don’t need to know that.” 

~*~

I like Scott’s house, cozy, quaint, and tucked into the forest’s edge, it’s romantic as fuck. Unless it’s dark out and there’s a murderer roaming around, then it’s creepy. Taylor was sitting at one end of the couch and I was at the other with cartons of Chinese food on a tray between us. Probably a good idea because the eye-candy on screen was inspiring in ways that we had already agreed were not appropriate. 

We were halfway through the first episode when the front door rattled in its frame. Taylor jumped about a mile, then gave me a sheepish look.

“Taylor, open the door” that was Scott’s voice, and Taylor bounced-up, almost on wings to get the door open.

“Sorry, we thought it was a good idea.” 

Scott came in with Isaac, and Stiles in tow. “It was a good idea. If we had a clue this morning that we were going to stumble on a corpse, I would have brought my keys.”  
Isaac looked over the seating arrangements, smirked, and gave me a thumbs up, A-hole. 

Scott’s lopsided grin seemed a little sad, go figure. “So, war council” he announced. 

That must be my cue, and I picked up my keys. 

“Danny, I would like you to stay” Scott said. 

“You never did before.” 

“Yeah, and how did that work-out?” he motioned me back to the couch, while the rest of them sat down. Instead of sprawling across all available space, Stiles sat like a person. “Danny, I owe you an apology” Scott started. “Now seems like a good time to say I was wrong about excluding you.” He had tried to keep me from dating Ethan and lied to my face several times doing it. “You’re a good guy and smart. You’ve stepped up every time we needed you, even when we thought we didn’t.” 

Scott gave Stiles an apologetic smile before continuing “We have rogue werewolf hunters in Beacon Hills again. They aren’t shy about killing humans that associate with werewolves either. I’ll call you a Lyft, if you want to bow out, but I’m done excluding our friends.” 

“About fucking time” Stiles grumbled. 

I have sisters. Taylor’s special, but was I willing to put my family in danger for a stranger? Then again, Hunters had killed the Ward family even though they weren’t Supernatural, and that weird science cult hadn’t been picky about their victims either. 

“Danny” Taylor said. “Don’t get involved.” 

“Too late. Allison saw us together, and even if she didn’t, she knows I dated a werewolf boy before.” 

“You did, you know?” 

Isaac chuckled, and Scott grinned. Why do you think those cans tipped over” Scott asked? 

“That was on purpose?” 

“Of course, it was” I answered. “You are faster and stronger than any regular human. Scott can run laps around me, but he paced with me today to avoid drawing attention.” I stopped there, because Taylor could fill in the blanks and because the killer needed to be a priority. Turning to the group “do we have any idea why they are here and how much they know?” 

“There have been some unusually grisly murders in So Cal the last year” Stiles offered. 

Taylor’s hand shot up, like he was in school. “There was one in the Hollywood Hills the same week Larry disappeared. I recognized one of the names in the paper.” 

“You haven’t told us why your social worker blames Larry for what happened to you.” The neutral expression on Scott’s face was interesting. 

“The 911-call was traced to Larry’s cellphone” Taylor explained. “The police think he disabled the phone afterward because they couldn’t trace its location.” 

“Alright” Scott said. “I see why they think he’s involved, and why you aren’t convinced.” 

“Hey, would you guys bring me up to speed on this part of the story?” 

Taylor looked a little panicked, but Scott folded his hands in his lap and gave me his attention. “Taylor was bitten by a werewolf down in L.A. The who and the why are a mystery, was the intention was to turn Taylor, or was he just lucky enough to survive a random attack. Larry might be the hero of the story or the villain, we just don’t know.” 

“Hollywood Werewolves” Stiles said like he was tasting the words and enjoyed the flavor. That makes sense, Packs tend to accumulate wealth because their members live so long” Stiles frowned. “I never thought of that as a motivation, but Hunters always loot any valuables.” 

“The Hale Treasure” Scott breathed. 

“Is carefully invested in Stocks and Bonds” Stiles announced irritably. “Gerard spent a lot of time in Salt Lake and in Orange county. Just because his favorite henchmen are worm food doesn’t there aren’t others.” 

They were getting off-topic. “What does this have to do with the murders here?” Scott looked at Stiles. 

“Now you want me to talk” he grumbled. “Two of the local murders have a ritual fingerprint that matches some of the So Cal massacres. These aren’t local werewolves, so it’s possible they were tracked this far and killed before they could escape.” 

“So, they might not be interested in us at all?”

“Don’t count on it” Stiles said. “There’s trouble among the Hunter clans and it’s likely to land here.” 

On cue the rumble of a Camaro rounded the corner. 

~*~

God hates me. My loft is in one of the old silos adjacent to the defunct railyard, and a few hundred yards from the abandoned depot where I confined Isaac during his first two full moons as a werewolf. In my defense I was newly Alpha and unsure of my abilities, but the hulk is haunted now, and most days shut completely out of my awareness. 

When Scott told me, he had a newly bitten werewolf on his hands, the memories had begun creeping back. As the sun began to sink, my eye was drawn to the window overlooking the railyard time and time again. The smell of garlic and tomatoes bubbling on the stove wasn’t sufficiently distracting, and neither was the old journal Stiles had been working on. My eyes kept going back to the window. 

If Stiles were here, he would be snapping at me about my distraction. Eventually I admitted he would be right and pulled on my boots and jacket. It’s a great jacket; a gift from Noah, and lined with Kevlar and ceramic armor plates. The waxing moon was high in the sky and the street lamps were working in perfect order. It’s probably just my ghosts raising Cain with the sense of security, but there is only one way to lay those to rest. 

I worked my way around, doing a full circuit of the perimeter fence. Amtrak goes through here twice daily but it doesn’t stop in Beacon Hills anymore. The cyclone fencing with its razor wire was perfectly intact, gates snuggly locked. Of course, that’s mostly for show. Any able-bodied person could enter the yard by following the working tracks. Which is what I did. Giant Fennel and towering blackberry brambles, cut through by trails the deer left looking of salt and iron deposits to lick. 

I was about to cross into the open when the hair on my arms rose upright. Backing away the hair relaxed. Scanning the narrow ditch, I was about to cross revealed blackened grass and wilted weed stems. That was interesting, though how you rigged an electrical charge in a wet ditch without blowing the power grid is a mystery. 

The sound of an overpowered engine roared around the corner and the matt-black van refused the gleam of street lights. It pulled up to the railroad crossing and six men spilled out. Dark colored uniforms with no insignia denoting organization or rank, dark billed caps pulled low over their faces, and an assortment of long barreled weapons totally unfamiliar to me. They spread out roughly eight feet apart and advanced on the depot. It was a safe bet that the real threat was behind me. These were beaters, meant to flush prey into the open. I was simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and hunkered down to watch the show. 

An arrogantly placed foot broke through the mat of weed stalks and dried grass, pitching the soldier face first into a cistern I knew to be full of jagged metal scrap and discarded coal oil. The shrill scream was short. To their credit the line froze in place. No one even looked in his direction. A second soldier brushed aside a similar layer of weeds, the thing that exploded upward passed by his face and kept going with a mutter like beating wings. Then, very slowly, the severed head slid off his shoulders, hit the ground, and rolled a few feet. 

They began to advance again, keeping to bare dirt and cinders, testing each step before adding their bodyweight to it. The foot that sank all the way past his knee through a crust of dried mud released a sudden shrill hiss. I dropped face first into the dirt as the wave of ignited methane expanded supernova blue. The vegetation around me began to burn before I looked up. Whatever the soldier had stepped into must have a vice like grip. He was still standing, head and most of his flesh torn away. What was left was a carbonized skeleton with a few scraps of body armor dangling. The remaining three had crumbled to the ground, their uniforms beginning to catch fire. Napalm does something similar, the spark rushing down your trachea and flash burning all the cilia in your lungs. They were probably still alive but there was nothing medical technology could do for injuries like that. 

The van’s engine revved to life, and it backed away from the railroad crossing on squealing tires. Car alarms were shrilling and faces crowded windows overlooking the railyard.   
I rolled onto my back, snuffing any burning embers that had landed on me. the weeds were beginning to truly burn. I went out, the way I came in. Once beyond the fence and across the road from that mess, I looked up the block. Under the awning of a closed coffee shop three figures were watching me. Even with a nose full of smoke I know my kind.   
At my approach one of the figures retreated behind the other two. The werewolf wasn’t tall, but he was exceedingly broad in the shoulders. Wearing a loose plaid hunting jacket and a ball cap, his easy grace was the exact opposite of the trained mercenaries left behind.

“You’re the Alpha.” 

“I am an Alpha” correcting him. “Was that about you?” 

“Scavengers, looking for easy pickings.” The girls with him were bare-headed, hair cut short, and dressed like boys. 

“Do you think they are persuaded the pickings aren’t easy?” 

He nodded toward two vans across the street. Outwardly there was nothing unusual, but the smell of blood and spilled bowels would ripen in this heat before long. “I think a convincing argument has been made.” Stepping back so I would have an unobstructed view “these cubs are Jessica and Jennifer, the last survivors of the Ortiz Pack. My name is Larry, and we claim sanctuary.”

~*~

They came in the night. Three four-wheel drives with spotlights glaring from the roll-bars, stinking of cordite and wolfsbane. Rolling up on my trailer from three sides and grinding my garden into pulp with their oversized tires. I watched them from the tree-line as they searched, smashing out windows and anything else that made a satisfying crash. Twelve of them, reeking of beer and hashish, trusting to numbers and illegal automatic weapons. 

Stupid! Did they think they were hunting woodland creatures, or were they bait being dangled? The waxing moon was almost full; even as an Omega it was enough for me to shift. Not that I needed such an edge tonight. I waited until one of the Hunters wormed his way under the trailer, maybe looking for a bolt-hole, or for rumored Hale treasure. 

His agonized shriek brought the rest tumbling forward to help. I pressed call icon, on my mobile device and stared at the ground while blue-white glare painted shadows across the trees. The shock wave a few seconds later brought debris raining down on my back. When I looked up the trucks were burning, and one by one their gas tanks exploded.   
I wormed my way back into deeper cover. This late in the dry season, the fire would spread quickly. Men knew enough to keep a close watch for fires and were adept at containing them and after the initial violence, fire would be good for this forest. The Newcomers don’t understand this land, or that their pristine wilderness is a bedtime story to sooth their conscience’s. The fire crews would arrive soon. Even the latest thermal-imaging and night-flying drones would be limited in the confusion of men and equipment engaged to fight the fire. 

Gerard was dead or dying, but someone was still pulling the strings. My refuge violated; it was time to go on the offensive.

~*~

Mrs. McCall stepped out onto the back porch. The fire had been burning for three days and was only 60% contained. Even though the fire-line was 30 miles away the smoke haze was thick enough to make her eyes water. “Nix, your lacrosse practice. The ER is going to be full enough today. I don’t need a bunch of teenagers with newly triggered respiratory symptoms in the mix.” 

“You do know that the Co-Captains don’t set the schedule” Scott said with a smirk.

“Mommy says, no” she mocked him. “I’ll call the school and remind them about the liability issues.” 

Scott shrugged. “Coach will just make us clean out the equipment room.” 

“Oh, yee of little faith” she said. “Susan is picking me up today, I want you to fill the gas tank and check the tires.” 

“You’re leaving me with the car?” 

“You have a license, and are a responsible adult, more or less” she added with a wink. “Keep an eye on the news.” That sounded more sober. A car pulled-up outside and honked its horn. Mrs. McCall grabbed her keys and purse from the table. “Keep the doors and windows locked” she said heading for the front door. 

Once the door had closed Scott dove into the refrigerator and came back with a carton of eggs and four pork chops. “You’re expecting company?” 

“Aren’t you hungry?” 

“Yes, but we had three double Whoppers each last night.” 

“With good luck we’ll eat twice that much today. I don’t know about you, but a run takes it out of me.” Now that he mentioned it, Scott was looking a little scrawny this morning. 

“Do you always run in the next county?” 

“Oh, hell no. We have a defined territory but with Hunters in the area, me and Derek decided it was too dangerous, and with this being your first full moon it wasn’t safe to keep you indoors.” 

“Safe for who?” 

“Any of us, but mostly you. I like having a brother, told you that already.” The distinctive chug of a Volvo engine pulled up outside. 

Breakfast was a lot less interesting as I skipped to the front door. Scott was laughing at me as I pulled the door open. Danny froze in place, hand raised to knock. “A civilized person.” 

“Hi” he held up a paper bag smelling like bitter chocolate and butter. “I came by to tell you practice is canceled until the air quality improves.” 

Leaning forward and tilting my head up, I kissed him on the lips. Just a peck, but I wanted my intentions to be clear to all and sundry. 

The rose-gold blush was warm enough I could feel it on my skin. “Guess I don’t need a fancy bribe for an invitation inside.”

“Depends on your definition of Fancy”

Scott’s arm shot past my head snatching the bag from Danny faster than I could duck. “I decide what is an appropriate bribe” He said with a chuckle. “Croissants from Tartine’s work though.” 

“I don’t think you should be pimping your ‘brother’s ass’ for chocolate” Danny said with air quotes. 

Scott was already heading for the kitchen “I’ll share” he promised. 

Once Scott was out of sight Danny stepped into the threshold, putting arms around my waist. “How was it? How are you feeling?” 

“I feel great.” Which was true. “It was fun, still a little confusing, the memories don’t really make any sense to me, but Scott and Derek are happy.” 

“Good. They’ll look out for you.” Danny lowered his lips to mine and kissed me. it was more than a peck, but he backed off faster than I wanted. “What about your friend?” 

“Larry and the twins are staying at a motel. The Sheriff has eyes on it just in case. Derek is networking.” 

“He doesn’t want to take you with him?”

“As if!” Larry’s second apology had actually made me angry. I understood now, what had happened and why, but I thought he cared more about me than his decisions proved. “He’s not an Alpha, so he can’t force me, and I’m happy here.” 

“Really?” 

I pulled his head back down and kissed Danny again. When I came up for air “who wouldn’t want to be kissed by you?”

“Breakfast is ready” Scott called from the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of my very first fan-fic back in 2013. I’ve learned a few things since then, I hope so at least. This should be read as a stand-alone. At least until and if I find time to rewrite the whole series.


End file.
